


Requisitions

by Identiaetslos



Series: Threvellan Collection [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Disaster Romance, F/F, Fluff, It's not one of my fics unless there are naked characters, Lesbians lesbianing, My weakness is protags being completely in love with minor NPCs, Naked Characters, Naked Elves, Naked Quartermaster, Possible smut later, Probably my favorite ship, Rarepair, Romance, Romances don't always have to be squadmates, Sorta friends to lovers, This romance makes me want to throw handfuls of popcorn in the air, more like friends with kissing and then lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-05-04 23:56:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 30,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14604573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Identiaetslos/pseuds/Identiaetslos
Summary: My damn Lavellan fell in love with Quartermaster Threnn and not the Sera she was intended for. This is their disaster romance.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> There was an earlier version of it, but I wanted to start this story from an earlier spot. Enjoy!
> 
> \- - - - -
> 
> 12/4 Reworking this fic a little bit. New chapters added and making some changes as I go along.

Bitter wind and the stench of death were the first things to greet Wyn Lavellan as she was dragged from the stocks and the through the thick, wooden doors of whatever jail she found herself in. The Seeker, a formidable woman, whom Wyn had only seen from afar up until now, had her by her irons and dragged her just in front of the doors, though loosened her grasp long enough for Wyn to shield her face from the embers that swirled around in the air.

"There! Do you see it?" Cassandra asked, pointing skyward at the swirling blight among the clouds.

It belched, sparking green fire from Wyn's hand that wrenched her to the ground in a mixture of agony, confusion, and horror. Whispers in the air drowned out the Seeker as she bellowed something in her muddled Orlesian accent, the violet hues of her impossibly beautiful face twisting in a mixture of desperation and pain that was cleverly disguised under darkened rage. Suddenly, the whispers quieted, giving her back to a reality filled with the crackling of fires caused by the destruction, snowfall, and the din of passers by who could only stare. The Seeker wanted to know if Wyn would cooperate. A silly question. She was an elven mage with the mark of the Dalish upon her forehead and still in chains. What choice did she have?

Imprisonment aside, whatever was happening to her hand was obviously tied to the mark in the sky, and the terror that rained down on Ferelden would likely spread to other lands, including the innocent fields of Wycome.

The Seeker seemed to be surprised and then pleased by her answers. She helped her back to her feet, and after brushing the snow off, took her by the irons again and led her through the camp and the reproachful stares of the people surrounding wherever it was they were. She guessed Haven by the looks of it and the people milling about, poking their heads through tents and folding their arms across their chests as they judged.

"They have decided your fate. To them, you are responsible," Cassandra continued, her back still turned as she pulled.

As Wyn passed, she caught sight of a tall, burly redheaded woman standing outside a tent dressed in Ferelden leathers with the rank of Sergeant pinned to her chest. She looked angry, disappointed, lost, accusing. She had a chiseled jaw covered in freckles and scars, and eyes as deep and green as the grass tops of the high plains. Distracted by her, Wyn stumbled, but was caught by the Seeker.

"Keep moving. We have to get to the gate," said the human warrior, urging her prisoner along.

Wyn's face was hot with embarrassment as she realized she had been staring. Unable to resist, she turned and looked for the woman once more and found she still had her attention. Now, she looked curious. Wyn smiled, hoping, somehow, that it might impress her.

"We haven't time," the Seeker grumbled, pulling harder on her restraints to refocus her attention on the task at hand: Closing the breach.


	2. Chapter 2

Wyn Lavellan squinted, the sun burning through the milky clouds and even through the tear in the sky, bathing Haven with warmth that felt a lot like hope. Or at least a relief to some of the recent confusion. She stared down at her hand for a moment and watched it glow. It had stopped hurting since she and the others had left the Temple of Sacred Ashes. If anything, it was more of an annoyance and was even more of a reason for people to stare, which they were doing as they passed by.

Shaking off the residuals of the most recent meeting, which had been more about arguing than saving the world, Wyn averted her eyes from the hopeful sun and to a collection of tents and tables that had gathered just beyond the rock wall in front of the Chantry.

According to Ambassador Montilyet, this was the Requisitions area and was essential to keeping this, whatever it was, going. On Josephine's urging she was to see the Quartermaster and get a list of items needed from her in order to continue to build out the army’s munitions. An army...this was unlike anything else that Wyn had ever imagined or even been prepared for. For a Dalish clan, Lavellan was large, but still practiced what humans would call “guerilla warfare” with small bands of hunters, scouts, and mages...if it came down to it. It had been centuries since Lavellan had been involved in anything approaching full scale war; not since the time of Tevinter.

Sure, being the First of her Clan, Wyn had been encouraged to learn about their human neighbors, including how they fought their enemies, but even with her years of reading books and studying their soldiers, she knew little of organizing an army let alone leading it.

In that, she was happy to defer to the expertise of Commander Cullen and Seeker Pentaghast, who were far more experienced with such things. The troops also responded to them more than they did her. What could they learn from a blonde haired Dalish mage that crawled out of a dungeon only a few weeks ago.

Wyn made her way past the opening in the rock wall separating the road and the Chantry to the rest of the encampment, dodging a few Chantry sisters around a fire pit and young human soldiers dressed in a mash of Ferelden armor with orange accents that Seeker Pentaghast had decreed was to be one of the Inquisition colors. Why, she did not understand since it just made everyone look like giant pumpkins and did nothing to disguise them against the actual Ferelden landscape.

“Excuse me,” she muttered, to a clump of soldiers who had blocked her path.

One of them looked over and grumbled in irritation as they stood aside, looking at her as though her presence was an inconvenience until they realized that it was their precious Herald of Andraste asking. Then it was a, “pardon me, Your Worship,” looking sheepish and a purposely meek voice low enough that it was barely discernible over the din.

Sighing internally, Wyn made her way to the back where Minaeve had told her was the quartermaster’s tent.

Standing in front was a face Wyn instantly recognized as the fiery, red-headed woman from the yard just outside the dungeon Cassandra had dragged her from. She was tall as any of the trees in the yard, and as salty as the Earth she stood on. She had a soldier’s bearing, and the thick arms and crooked nose to suit. Her broad, chiseled features were knotted in an irritated scowl as she scolded a young man in front of her, the sea of freckles on her puppy-like face dancing in the late afternoon sun.

The woman was no longer in her Ferelden armor, but the silly uniforms that Lady Cassandra was forcing everyone to wear. However, to her credit, she was the only one that made it look good.

 _Clothes come off, right?_ Wyn mused, and immediately shoved the thought aside as she stopped in front of the table.

It was clear that the Quartermaster was all business as she took no notice, which Wyn found endearing, and the more she emphatically waved her parchment around and seasoned the air with profanity in her thick Fereldan accent, the more Wyn liked her.

“Well, I'm not the fucking tooth fairy am I!” She shot at the poor boy standing in front of her.

Wyn stifled a giggle.

The Quartermaster briefly lifted her eyes, which were the same color as the bluegrass of Wycome and just as breathtaking, but only insofar to acknowledge Wyn’s movements and not her presence. “If you're here to clean, Hess can get you a bucket and a broom. If anyone calls you Knife Ear, come to me. As for you,” she turned her focus back to the young soldier she had been bellowing at. “Tell Harritt that he can stuff it for all I care.”

“Yes, Master,” the young man said, bowing and glancing at Wyn. A small smirk was across his lips as he took his leave.

Wyn’s heart immediately sank at such a greeting. Why did it always have to be the cute ones?

Realizing that the elf was still standing there, the quartermaster finally made eye contact and blanched.

“Wyn Lavellan,” Wyn introduced irritation frosting her words.

“Oh, you're her...” the quartermaster’s voice trailed off and she looked cross again for a moment, but more at herself than anyone else. “Um...Threnn, Quartermaster. I supply this...Inquisition with what it needs. Our soldiers might be the heroes marching all day to fight the demons. Turns out, heroes need to dig latrines too.”

Wyn nodded. “And eat and clothe themselves...I’m familiar. My clan traded with your likes once upon a time."

Threnn sighed, seemingly frustrated with herself. “Right,” she bobbed her disappointingly adorable head in acknowledgement. “As Ambassador Montilyet probably mentioned, I could use some help getting supplies,” she continued, handing the parchment she had been holding to Wyn. “This is a short list of what we need most desperately. Anything you can do while you’re out there would be much appreciated.”

Wyn read the list over. Mostly ores and textiles, likely for blades and armor. Though, any of these ores would make decent spades for those latrines. As much as Wyn felt like giving Threnn a piece of her mind, she resigned herself defeatedly to the idea that in order to stave off the end of the world, she would still have to work with her and the choice comments bubbling at the tip of her tongue were best for another time or place.

She could also tell by Threnn’s softened demeanor that her offense was caused by the true enemy that blighted the courtyard, which was ignorance. In her defense, something about her expression told Wyn that unlike the other sods around the campfire, there was hope to be had for this one. Maybe the hope was self-serving. Would it be so bad if it was? 

“I'll see what I can do,” Wyn said. Despite her musing, she wasn’t entirely certain enough to trust Threnn with the effort, and she conveyed that well enough through her tone and her demeanor that the Quartermaster looked dumbfounded as to what else she could say.

Wyn reached to one of the notebooks on her hip and opened it to a blank page. “May I?” She asked, gesturing to Threnn’s quill.

“Of course,” the human said, her crisp, songbird voice fluttering like lily petals on the breeze.

Why oh why did it have to be the nice looking ones? Wyn asked again, suddenly angry at their blessed Maker for coloring a person with such ugliness. She scribbled down a copy of the list, telling herself not to pinch too hard in anger, and then closed the book, hanging it back on her belt.

“Much appreciated...Your Worship,” Threnn added, taking her quill back when it was offered. It was her way of apologizing without saying it; an effort, but the half-hearted nature left Wyn with an even more sour taste. To her credit, Threnn’s voice did not lack the volume like the other humans that had nearly run her down, and she continued to make eye contact. She also looked in her eyes and not somewhere else.

Maybe she was worth a second chance, she thought with trepidation. “Quartermaster,” Wyn said before taking her leave.

“Maker, go with you,” Threnn replied as Wyn wandered away from her table.


	3. Chapter 3

“Way to cock that one up,” Threnn growled under her breath. She did her best to shove her embarrassment aside, but that just made it worse. She let out a puff of frustrated air loud enough that Hess overheard and asked if she was all right.

“Yes,” Threnn lied, her tone still in a growl that the man did not deserve. To his credit, he didn’t seem offended. She stared at the slope in the soil that led to the rest of Haven, and the same one the Herald disappeared under as she went to do the Maker’s bidding. Hopefully, somewhere still in the camp, and not going off to someplace dangerous like back to the war in the Hinterlands with _that_ being her last memory of Threnn.

Also, if she was the Herald of Andraste, she was certain Andraste wouldn’t take kindly to such disrespect. That was a debate to have later. Regardless of whether the rumors were true or not, she was the woman that Threnn was ordered to serve. By not only Seeker Pentaghast, but by Queen Anora herself.

Wanting to forget the ass she had made of herself in front of her commanding officer, Threnn turned her attention back to the task at hand, which was still accounting for the new addition to her growing list of needs. Instead of the list, what stared back at her was the image of Lady Lavellan. She was quite beautiful.

Much different than when Seeker Cassandra dragged her from the Chantry dungeon in chains. Of course, she’d had a chance to clean up. Rumors still circulated about Wyn and her role in the massacre at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, the more vicious ones coming from Denerim: She was a tainted apostate, possessed, and had both the Left and Right Hands of the Divine under her wicked spell.

None of that looked like the woman that had just been at her table. Aside from her astonishing beauty, there had been a kindness about her and a surprising amount of nervousness. She was a young woman, very clearly in over her head, but handled it with a grace that Threnn couldn’t help but admire. She was well spoken, and her voice like a song in Threnn’s ear the more she thought of it.

Absently, Threnn scribbled a list of items to go out with her caravan the next time she came by, a smile on her face as she thought about being visited once more.

“I had no idea that elfroot filled you with such happiness,” Hess joked.

“What?” Startled, Threnn looked over to her second in command.

He chuckled. “Just giving you shit, mom.”

Threnn’s face flattened. Ever since arriving in this camp, it had been quickly pointed out that she was one of the oldest ones. “Seasoned” as Cassandra put it in her dry eloquence. “If the Herald comes by, see that she gets this,” Threnn said flatly and stuck it in the pages of her ledger and then stopped herself, remembering her earlier conduct.

Cowardice would dismiss such a slight and wait for Wyn to forgive her by herself. Looking across the yard, there were so many elves here that she never remembered noticing. She’d promised Wyn that if she were personally insulted with a slur that she’d take care of it, and she meant it. But it wasn’t a courtesy she didn’t know it was sincere.

Success of the Inquisition rested on trust. Threnn nor Wyn could properly fit his army if there was no trust between them. Also, encountering her again was a thought that filled her with more excitement than she wanted to admit.

Looking over at Hess, Threnn gestured to him to take over for a minute. “Watch this for me,” she said and for the first time in her life, she abandoned her post while she was supposed to be working.

This counted as working didn’t it? It was establishing a relationship with the woman she took orders from, she justified, and if Cullen or Cassandra had a word with her, that would be what she replied with. 

Making her way down the hill to the rest of the camp, Threnn scanned the area, even more aware of how many elves were in Haven, and ones that had Dalish tattoos, but none were the woman she sought. Just as she was about to turn away in defeat, she noticed Wyn emerging from Flissa’s tavern, looking even more defeated.

Threnn’s heart filled with dread, and she willed herself forward. “Excuse me, Herald,” she said in a softer voice than fitted her personality.

Startled, Wyn turned around. “Quartermaster Threnn!”

Threnn let out a sigh, feeling even worse. “Beg your pardon, Your Worship, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t,” Wyn lied. “What can I help you with?”

“I wanted to apologize,” Threnn began. She squared her shoulders and kept her eyes locked with Wyn’s just as she would with any other commanding officer. “I behaved poorly a few moments ago, and I shouldn’t have assumed. I should never assume,” she corrected herself.

Lady Lavellan looked stunned a moment, the late afternoon sun shimmering off a few strands of gorgeous platinum hair that fluttered around in the wind, errant of the braid that Wyn had artfully tied behind her head. She looked at the ground at Threnn’s feet and looked as though she might cry a moment and then lifted a grateful eye, filled with relief, a small smile tugged on her full lips.

As she did so, her eyes slid past Threnn’s in such a way that time seemed to slow, and words unspoken passed between the two of them. Warmth filled Threnn’s breast in a way she’d never felt before and she relaxed as though she were talking to an old friend.

“Um..thank you, Quartermaster,” Wyn said and broke contact. “You have no idea what that means.”

“What happened?” Threnn asked, thumbing at Flissa’s door. If anything, it would be worth a night in the stocks.

Wyn made a dismissive gesture and then seemed to think the better of it. “Same ol. At least your apology was sincere.”

“Oh.” Threnn felt a flash of anger and then ill.

Wyn shook her head.

“I meant what I said earlier. If anyone called you Knife Ear--”

“She didn't,” Wyn said, stopping Threnn with a gentle hand on hers. “Sorry.” She pulled back and looked embarrassed.

Threnn tried to forget what Wyn’s hand felt like, but that was just as impossible as forgetting her guilt.

“I keep forgetting humans generally don’t like to be touched.”

“I don’t mind,” Threnn replied breathlessly, hoping that in doing so, Wyn would have the courage to do it again. She didn’t, but she seemed far more relaxed. Good. “It's not always something obvious like that is it?” Threnn asked, feeling dumb. She shifted her posture and rubbed the back of her head as she always did when she was nervous.

“No,” Wyn replied and rubbed her hands along her arms. “I’m cold,” she protested.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t keep you,” Threnn apologized. She moved to take her leave from Wyn and then stopped. “Forgive me being forward, but I was wondering...if you’re hungry, I wouldn’t mind your company for supper.”

Threnn’s heart thudded in her ears as she spoke, and she was quite certain that the voice that sounded a lot like hers was some sort of disembodied spirit.

Wyn brightened into a soft smile. “I think I’d like that.” She fidgeted nervously and looked for a moment like she wanted to flirt. “Can we go somewhere warm?”


	4. Chapter 4

The Chantry was decided on as the best place warm and private enough for this supper. Irony dripped from the walls of the mighty Fereldan stone edifice as much as the moss and wax from spent candles did. Warmth from the candles and the roaring fires throughout the Andrastian sanctuary greeted Wyn and she was instantly grateful to be inside, even if being in this building was awkward.

Of course, the spectacle of the Herald of Andraste, box of food stores in her arms, following behind the massive Quartermaster did not go unnoticed by a few passing Chantry Sisters and Seeker Pentaghast who had presumably been taking a moment to pay her respects to her beloved deity.

"Lady Cassandra," Threnn greeted. She sounded afraid.

“What are you doing?” Cassandra asked, her sharp Nevarran accent reverberating off the walls like a velvet melody.

“Dinner,” Wyn replied before Threnn could. “I asked her to take me some place warm and quiet.”

“I see,” Cassandra replied. She was barely visible over the top of the box Wyn held, but she could see the Seeker’s eyebrows studying Threnn and Wyn together. “Come with me. There’s a private room which will suit you nicely.”

“Apologies for the cap, M’Lady,” Threnn said.

“Andraste will forgive you, Quartermaster. I’m still wearing my sword, no?” By the tone of Cassandra's voice she was amused and there was a motherly quality to it that Wyn had come to expect from her. Thankfully, the room that they were directed to was not far, and Cassandra pushed open the door to let them. “Please clean up after you are finished. Also, be mindful that this building is as drafty as it is Fereldan; these walls carry every noise. I can even hear rats chewing and it annoys me.”

“We’ll be mindful, Seeker,” Wyn assured, and watched the eyebrows pull the door closed.

Threnn and Wyn both made their way to a nearby table and deposited their stash on its surface. The room they found themselves in was quaint, but luxurious by a Chantry’s standards. At the far wall was a great fireplace which had charred leavings in it from the last guest, and included a place to hang the pot, tapestries on either side depicting the Chantry along with a brass stand with some wood presumably for the fireplace.

On the mantle were doll-like figurines of Andraste in various clothing and poses. On the floor was a rug decorated in the Inquisition heraldry, and covered a great stone floor that matched the rest of the Chantry. Also in the room was a dusty looking chest of drawers with a cistern of water on top, and opposite it was a perfectly made bed.

Guest quarters, Wyn surmised and put aside wandering thoughts about the bed and glanced at Threnn who appeared to be staring at the same thing.

“At least we have somewhere comfortable to sit,” Threnn joked and seemed nervous.

Wyn chuckled nervously and tore herself from the Quartermaster’s side. Waving her hand, she lit a fire in the fireplace and held her hands to it.

“We’re going to need some more kindling,” Threnn said.

Wyn turned to face her and noticed that she had removed her orange cap and pauldrons as she unpacked the ingredients for supper. She was speechlessly handsome and Wyn shook her head to snap out of staring at her.

“What? This should suffice,” Wyn protested. “I can keep it going.”

“Even magic must give way to the mechanics of the world. Besides,” Threnn lifted her eyes, “I only brought enough for the two of us and I’d rather not be feeding demons without my kit on.”

Wyn couldn’t help a laugh and she relented. “Okay.”

Threnn’s face twisted into the most handsome form of regret Wyn had ever seen. “Sorry, my mouth. I shouldn’t doubt you like--”

Wyn threw another log on the fire and touched her hand reassuringly to Threnn’s arm. “I’m not offended. You’re right. Especially this close to the breach, I should be more careful with magic.”

Threnn looked adorably confused, and what made it worse was the haphazard wisps of reddish hair, trapped in cowlicks and waving against the warming air. “I look wild don’t I? I always do.” She stopped what she was doing and tried to tame the errant strands, but it only made it worse.

Wyn couldn’t help an amused laugh. “Allow me.”

Threnn sat in a nearby chair and her face took on a reddish hue that competed with the soft glow of the firelight as she allowed Wyn to touch her. Her hair was silky, soft, and thicker than what Wyn imagined and addictive between her fingers as was the delicate curve of Threnn’s head under her hands. She smelled good. Like home with the faint hint of mabari and the trust that came with it.

Nothing short of possibly conjuring a spell was fixing Threnn’s hair and Wyn realized she was dangerously close to petting the Quartermaster. 

Threnn didn’t seem to mind and looked saddened when Wyn took her hands away. Those emerald eyes were soft and searched her just as they had the courtyard. Perhaps being in this room alone wasn’t the best idea, Wyn mused. But...there were worse things. Like not being in here with her.

“Show me what I need to do,” Wyn said, her cheeks warming as she moved around the opposite side of the table and picked up a slab of druffalo meat from a beast that Threnn mentioned was a same animal recently slain by Threnn’s own hand.

“We are making my famous Turnip Stew,” Threnn said, rising from her chair, and smoothing a hand across the still errant strands of fire-hued hair. She handed a knife to Wyn and picked up one of her own along with a ripe turnip. “Not that there’s anything special about it. Slice the meat into cubes and place it into the pot and I’ll do the same with the vegetables.”

“Sounds straight forward.”

“This is as gourmet as the front lines,” Threnn quipped and began slicing away with the grace and dexterity of a practiced swordsman.

“I take it you made this for the troops in Ferelden,” Wyn said, cutting into her meat.

Threnn nodded, the firelight catching the dark caverns of the scars on her face. “When I could. Which wasn’t as often as I liked. ‘Mama Threnn,’ they would say, ‘make us yer stew.’ Some of the boys would go out fetching me things to cook when we had a moment.” She looked contemplative and then sad for a moment and returned to slicing.

Wyn offered a kind smile, unsure what to say. “Sometimes Deshanna would have me cook for the camp. More often than not, though, people were requesting I not cook anything. Better at casting spells than I am conjuring up a meal that isn’t burnt or horribly undercooked or otherwise tastes like ass. So, I will extend my apologies now if I ruin your recipe.”

“Fear not Herald, I won’t let you.” Threnn laughed and dropped a few diced vegetables into the pot.

Wyn did the same with her meat. “How long were you with the army?”

“My whole life,” Threnn replied. “I grew up in Gwaren. My parents worked for Teyrna Celia until she was called home by the Maker. After my own folks joined her, I asked to join Loghain’s army. Even though I was too young at the time, he made an exception for me since I had nowhere to go.”

“That was kind.”

Threnn nodded. “He was the best commanding officer this world has ever seen.”

“I hear he is a Grey Warden now."

"Aye. A punishment if you ask me, serving the Order that they say he betrayed. He was a hero to my people. Rose up from nothing and led us to prosperity. Now, he'll be fighting Darkspawn until the day he dies." 

"You said your parents worked for Celia. I assume then you knew Anora.” Wyn was careful with her words and regarded Threnn with an even more careful eye.

Threnn nodded again, strands of hair falling against her freckled forehead. She dropped more vegetables into the pot and stood. “Do you mind if I take this off?” She gestured to her green overcoat. “I don’t plan on being completely naked, but it’s a bit warm in here.”

“Of course,” Wyn replied, curious more than anything to see Threnn stripped of most of her uniform. She used this as an excuse to remove her own leather cloak and teal velvet overcoat.

Underneath Threnn’s uniform jacket was an undershirt that had once been white but now was more of a yellowish brown that Wyn would associate to a working class woman. It was tied with laces at the neck, but loose enough that Wyn could plainly see the soft curves of her cleavage and that the Quartermaster’s sea of freckles did, in fact, go farther down. She was solidly built, and her massive arms were best likened to branches of a great tree; they also conjured up thoughts of what it would be like to be wrapped up in them.

“I’m going to fetch some fresh water,” Wyn said absently.

Threnn nodded, her cheeks reddening again as she plainly caught Wyn staring.

Through the door, Wyn let out a puff of air and collapsed against the stone wall. As much as she hated it, she was suddenly grateful for the blast of cold air. Gone were the thoughts from earlier, and she better than to so easily dismiss the real reason why Threnn was here...which was not to flirt or to seduce, though at this point, if the evening were to result in her being naked in that bed with her, she would hardly object.

“Steady, Wyn,” The Herald breathed to herself and looked down to see a jug of fresh water sitting on a chair beside her. She hadn’t made it appear did she? She frowned and glanced at it and then looked up to see if anyone might have witnessed her conjuring a jug of water out of thin air.

Opposite her was Lady Cassandra who gave her a small, knowing smile as she took her leave to deeper parts of the Chantry and presumably her bed chambers.

“Thanks,” Wyn muttered and retreated back through the door with the jug in her hands.

Threnn was more attractive than ever. In her absence, the Quartermaster had rolled up her sleeves along her thick, freckled forearms which were as nicked up as her face, and she was nearly done with her chopping. “That didn’t take long,” she said with a pleasant smile, the firelight lapping at her distinguished features in such a way, Wyn nearly dropped the jug.

“Careful now.” Threnn came around from where she stood. “That’s heavy. I can take it.”

Wyn didn’t need help hefting the jug but she was happy to relinquish it to Threnn’s sturdy grasp if it meant watching her muscles flex some more. _If it’s still too warm, you could lose your top and do that._ Wyn thought and bit down on her tongue to keep it from escaping. “No, apparently Cassandra realized we’d forgotten something,” she said instead.

“That was thoughtful,” Threnn said carefully and kept her expression as even as possible, but it was clear that she was just as distracted.

What was happening?

“Tell me more about yourself. How did you become Quartermaster? Were you one for Loghain?” Wyn asked, resuming her meat chopping. 

“I wasn’t always. Started my life in the army as a grunt. That’s how I got most of these.” Threnn gestured to the scars on her face. “After Ostagar, I sort of fell into it. Served as a runner at first, and then second under my Master in Denerim, and then moved back to Gwaren. Being loyal to Loghain doesn’t exactly make you popular in my Kingdom. After they all turned on him in Denerim, there wasn’t much use for people who held my opinions. Queen Anora felt it was better if I come here; it was a kindness. She did it to get me away from all the political garbage.”

Wyn finished chopping the meat and dropped it into the pot and felt her blood go cold as she thought. “I remember Loghain, but differently,” she said carefully.

Threnn grabbed the jug of water and poured it in before taking it to the fireplace.

Wyn followed.

It was clear by the look on Threnn’s face that she was bothered, but not by the fate that brought her here. “I know what you must be thinking,” she added and sighed. “I remember hearing rumors...about the elves. After the worst of the Blight, part of my job was to find places for refugees. Wherever there was an open port we sent people. Elves, humans, dwarves. We weren’t given details. I remember...” Threnn paused to compose herself. She looked as frightened as she’d ever been. “I remember asking about it once. That’s how I got this.” She gestured to a large, deep scar along her jaw.

Wyn’s memory flashed back to the days in Wycome, coming along elves washed ashore. Some dead, some alive. Elves and humans finding their way into the camp, starving, lost, looks of betrayal and anger as deep as a soul in their eyes.

“I know that pales in comparison. For whatever role I played, I don't even know how to apologize in a way that would be fitting.”

Wyn was quiet a moment and stared into the fire. The food hadn’t yet begun to boil, but steam rose off the bottom of the pot where there had been water. She glanced at Threnn who looked as though she expected to be hit, blamed, yelled at, rejected. She deserved all of those things. Ten years wasn’t a massive chunk of time between now and then, and she’d been old enough to know better. What would be a fitting way? Demonstrate remorse. How? That would have to be proven wouldn't it?

“I’m sorry, Your Worship. Sister Leliana says I shouldn’t speak of it, but I don't like not being honest. Especially with you.” Threnn rose to her feet and reached into her uniform pocket. A coldness remained where Threnn had been. 

Despite the acid in her throat, Wyn couldn’t help but feel an absence.

“I have something special for your supper," Threnn said to the table. "I’ll leave it here--”

“--Please stay,” Wyn blurted out.

Threnn stopped. She played with a vial in her hands filled with what Wyn guessed was a seasoning powder. The Quartermaster looked both relieved and as though she wanted to cry.

“I wanted your company. While I will need time to think, Quartermaster, know there are people in this camp who have done far worse than you." Hearing herself say it was as much of a reassurance to Wyn as it was to Threnn. If this had been a year ago, Wyn would have relished hurting someone like Threnn and convincing her to stay still seemed wrong in some way, but this was also a woman she needed to be able to work with...and she was willing to try.

“Thank you, Your Worship,” Threnn replied and sat back down, this time a little farther away. “I will respect that, and I'm grateful to have a chance. I haven’t asked about you. Why were you at the Conclave?”

“Deshanna felt it was important someone from our Clan was there. Consequences from the Mage/Templar war were spilling into the countryside from Kirkwall, Ostwick, Nevarra. Also, as Deshanna’s First I’m next in line to take her place should something happen to her. My purpose as a First is always to the future of our Clan.”

“Do you remember anything of what happened?”

Wyn shook her head. “No. I remember being there and then being here, that’s it. Sometimes nightmares happen and I think there’s more to it, but I wake up screaming and it’s gone”

“What was it like being a First? Sounds important.”

Wyn nodded. “It’s like being a First Enchanter, if you’re familiar with the Circles. Except, we get to go outside and there are no Templars. Each clan is different, but in mine, we value knowledge and discovery more than anything else. This means that unlike some Clans, we are less isolationist; we trade openly with other human settlements, Wycome being the closest, and then Ostwick, Kirkwall but after the unrest there, we started keeping our distance; Antiva, Nevarra, Ferelden, Orlais, Daismuird even.

“Similar to humans, we are taught that magic is a tool given to us by the Creators. To wield it is to be given a gift of the gods, by the gods. I was trained personally by Deshanna since I was young. Once old enough, the Keeper’s First is sent on quests into the open world to seek knowledge, create relationships with the outside.”

“So, you’ve been just about everywhere.”

Wyn smiled into the pot as bubbles were beginning to form. “Not quite, but I’ve been around the Free Marches, Orlais, Antiva. This is the longest I have ever been in Ferelden.”

“I was about to ask. If you had been anywhere around Gwaren, I might have met you sooner.” Threnn laughed cautiously.

All of what Threnn admitted to needed time to digest. Wyn didn't feel anger toward Threnn, but she did feel sad, tired. Every human she would talk to in this camp would have a similar story. Wyn had done her best to blot out people like Sister Leliana and Seeker Cassandra over their roles as the messengers of Divine Justinia. Like with Loghain, Clan Lavellan knew a different person, as did Wyn. They hadn't bothered to come to Wyn, to look her in the eye, to admit fault and not expect forgiveness. Had it been any other time in her life, Wyn wouldn't have seen it, and the more she thought about it, the more she wanted to lean over and kiss Threnn for even trying. “I don’t know if you would have liked me then," Wyn replied absently. “I’ve never been an ‘easy’ person to like.”

“The best people aren’t,” Threnn replied. There was a long silence and Threnn looked back at Wyn as if to say a thousand things that the native tongues of either woman had no expression for. In honesty, Wyn should detest the woman that stood before her, but that was the farthest thing from her mind. In fact, Wyn found the only feeling in her heart was the familiarity from earlier in the courtyard and she couldn’t help a smile.

Threnn smiled back and her cheeks colored. “It looks like we’re almost done,” she said to the pot. The meat and vegetables were now dancing around merrily. She uncorked the vial she’d retrieved earlier and dropped it in and stirred it around. 

Suddenly, the already good-smelling dinner smelled even better and Wyn couldn’t help but salivate. “What is in that?”

Threnn smiled. “You’ll never know, Your Worship,” she quipped.

Satisfied that the meal was finished, Threnn doled out two hearty portions in a pair of bowls and handed Wyn some bread and a utensil.

“Maker, I thank you for this gift of life and ask your blessing on this meal and the strength that comes with it,” Threnn said quietly and ate.

Wyn smiled to herself and whispered a prayer to Andruil before taking a bite of her own. It was even better than it smelled and she ate heartily. “Remind me to have you cook once in a while,” she said, looking up.

“You have stew on your face,” Threnn said with amusement and gestured to Wyn’s chin.

Wyn made a face. “My mouth can’t have all the enjoyment,” she replied and wiped it off with her sleeve.

“It’s still there.” Threnn set her bowl down and grabbed a handkerchief and wiped it across Wyn’s face. She smelled even better than before and her hands were everything Wyn imagined them to be: Assured, a little rough around the edges, deliberate. It hadn’t started this way, but she was flirting and Wyn let it continue, suppressing the urge to capture Threnn’s fingertip in her mouth and tease her.

It didn’t have to be serious did it? Just sex. There was a bed in this room.

“Sorry...” Threnn said in a breathy tone. “I shouldn’t...I didn’t come here to...” her gorgeous nutmeg brow turned frustrated and she sat back to finish her food.

Suddenly, Wyn felt regret for her thoughts and finished her food as well. “Quartermaster,” she began and helped Threnn start to clean the room. “I wanted to thank you for being honest with me, and for treating me like a person. You have no idea how much that means to me.”

Threnn paused as she put together a crate full of dirty cookware and discarded vegetable leavings. “I’m glad, Your Worship. We have to be able to work together, and I want you to know I mean no harm. I mean...I know how I look and sound to people--”

Wyn advanced on Threnn and placed a hand on her soft, supple, strawberry lips to stop her. That was a mistake, she thought. She slowly withdrew, her eyes lingering on her mouth. Thoughts filled with temptation to pull her into a kiss. It would be so easy, and Threnn showed no indication she would resist. Just sex right? No...Wyn wanted more than that. This wasn't someone random, but someone that, for once in her life, she felt a connection to. Threnn was also right. Business first and then pleasure, there was still the business relationship to consider. “You’re trying harder than most,” Wyn said carefully and backed away. “I still need time to think, but,” she smiled. “I like you. I want...to like you, Threnn. I um...”

Threnn looked handsome again, standing with the firelight against her face, head down and hand on the back of her neck, hair in her eyes. Wyn's next thoughts were lost to admiring a Quartermaster who knew she was being admired. Her smile was as dashing as it was demure and she looked flustered as she fumbled with the rest of the clean up. "I'm glad to hear. I want us to be able to work together, and I um...I like you too, Your Worship."

There was a long pause between Herald and Quartermaster. Thoughts lingered on the bed in the room. Wyn pushed her chest out slightly as Threnn's magnificent green eyes caressed her breasts as though they were her hands. Wyn felt warm in her thighs and violently shoved aside the idea of grabbing her here and now and tossing her onto the bed. Cassandra warned about loud noises, and if Threnn so much laid a hand on her that way, Wyn was certain all of Thedas would be able to hear her.

Wyn sucked in air and turned her attention to Threnn's uniform. “You should put your clothes on unless you want to freeze.”

\- - - - - - 

Outside, a light snow had started. It was early into autumn, but Threnn guessed being high enough in the Frostbacks meant snow while orange leaves were still in the trees. On the suggestion of the Herald, the two of them had donated the leftover soup to the poorer people in camp and Wyn had left her entire coinpurse.

“I don’t need it,” Wyn said and smiled at Threnn.

Threnn hadn’t started to day with the purpose of ending up fancying anyone, but it was turning out to be ending this way. Heart in her nose, she offered the Herald her arm and tried not to smile visibly when it was taken.

“Where did you come from again?” Threnn asked absently as she led Wynaelora Lavellan back to the hut that she called home.

“Wycome if you must put a name to it. Or well, more like the Whispering Plains.”

Threnn stopped before Wyn’s door and smiled at the response. Snow was beginning to fall more steadily now and it touched the crown of Wyn’s head, becoming invisible against the natural color of her hair. She smelled faintly of embrium and a perfume Threnn couldn’t quite place, nor did she want to. She wanted to remember everything about Wynaelora, everything that was unique to her; preserve it for those times she couldn’t be here.

“I mean, one moment you were here of Thedas, somewhere far off in a place I’d probably never see. The next, you’re falling out of the sky and right here...in front of me.” Threnn spoke from the heart, which wasn’t lost to Wyn.

The Herald’s lavender eyes were soft and looked straight into her soul. Again, Threnn felt like she had somehow gone forward or backward in time, ripped a hole somewhere in the heavens and was now in a place so familiar even though this was somewhere she’d never been.

Suddenly hearing her words, Threnn snapped herself out of it and felt embarrassed. “Sorry. I realize that sounded cruel. I wouldn’t wish this nightmare on anyone and I--” before she could finish Wyn grabbed Threnn by the uniform collar and brushed her lips against Threnn’s frozen cheek. Whatever else Threnn had to say was muted by a stolen breath.

Wyn looked broken herself, though her expression was the last thing from regret. Her face flickered repeatedly as if fighting back a smile. She straightened Threnn’s now wrinkled uniform and smoothed her hands over it carefully as though she were bidding farewell to a wife.

“Thank you, Threnn. For everything tonight. I am off to Val Royeaux tomorrow,” Wyn said, her voice shook slightly and she was as discombobulated as Threnn felt. “I would like to see you again when I get back.”

“I would like that, M’Lady,” Threnn replied.

Wyn brightened and seemed to request a kiss on the cheek in return.

Frightened by where that might lead and suddenly mindful of eyes watching them, Threnn offered a polite bow and watched as the Herald slipped inside her hut.

Threnn let out a long sigh at the door and swore under her breath as she walked back to her barracks.


	5. Chapter 5

Most of Haven, including the Quartermaster, was still asleep when Wyn awoke. Fog had settled into the town, frosting the light dusting of snow with a thin layer of ice that Minaeve and the exhausted nightly patrol were doing their best to melt before Lady Cassandra or someone else of significant noble rank cracked their skull open on one of the stone steps.

Having grown up in some of the colder parts of Nevarra, and spending significant portions of her life training not only with the Seekers, but annual training with Orlesian Chevaliers, Cassandra seemed to be unfazed. Though, did her best to convey her appreciation that she was thought of.

Ever since her eyes popped open, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Threnn. Conversation surrounding Loghain from the night before lurked in her mind along with the panic she’d felt at the idea of pulling the door open and seeing her there, complete with salty grim face and all her glory and welcome to escort her to the stables.

She hadn’t been there, but the mere idea that Threnn might surprise her was enough to send Wyn’s heart to her nose and inspire one last thought before departure.

It was with that, she ventured up the mostly ice-free steps. Catching the Herald as she made her way up the steps in the direction of the Chantry, Cassandra frowned. “Herald...I remind you, that the sooner we leave, the better chance we will have of hitting the pass during the hottest part of the day.”

“I know.” Wyn returned and smiled in acknowledgment.

Cassandra lifted a sharp eyebrow. “Are we leaving today?” She ventured.

Wyn nodded. “We will leave, Seeker. I would like to do this one thing and then I will meet you at the horses.”

Cassandra gave the Herald a lingering look of curiosity before making her way toward the gates.

Wyn ascended and noted that the only souls in the quartermaster area were elves and a pair of mabari, eagerly gnawing on scraps of food left out for them by the servants. Noticing the Herald, several of them bowed, and one tried to kneel but was stopped by Wyn as she held up her hand.

Not wanting to wake anyone, Wyn said nothing and held her finger to her lips.

The elves regarded her curiously and then one of them smiled as Wyn gave herself away with an embarrassed smile.

Reaching into one of her hip pouches, Wyn produced a sprig of elfroot and then bent down, picking up a jagged stone from the ground that looked to be a fragment of either the rock wall just behind her, or the Chantry itself. She made her way to Threnn’s great desk, dusted with snow and ice and whispered a spell to dry it. Better to write on and Threnn would be grateful later.

She smiled almost being able to see her rosy smile as she took a page from one of her books and wrote: A tome in the elvish dialect of her Clan. Once finished, she sewed her bundle together with a bit of string and whispered a blessing before leaving it in the center of the table for her to find.

In all her years alive, Wyn had never done this before. She’d seen others do it; Deshanna used to leave talismans like this for one of the merchants in Wycome. She wondered whatever became of that. Did he respond? Filing it away for a letter home later, she felt a measure of embarrassment that she would be doing the same to someone so unlikely. At least the merchant in Wycome was elven, even if he was a City Elf. What would the Clan say about this?

Trying not to think too much on it, Wyn turned and headed back down, toward the gates, the stables and where this new life had to take her next.

\- - - - - 

Val Royeaux was the next on the list of adventures. Except, for Wyn, it wasn’t exactly a new one. Part of her scholarly trips as the Keeper’s First meant coming to this bustling metropolis. So much lost knowledge in these hills and among the trees, Empress Celene had been one of the first Orlesian monarchs in recent history to even try to remotely encourage elves to speak let alone to learn. From that unearthed a renaissance of knowledge otherwise thought to be “lost to the ages,” as the shems would put it.

It was, however, a bittersweet stroke of fortune. Celene's actions at Halamshiral hadn’t gone unnoticed even in the remote parts of the Free Marches as elves from across Orlais, fearing for their lives, made their way to what they hoped were greener pastures. Some, to the streets of places like Wycome and Kirkwall, some escaping into the wilderness and into Dalish camps like the Lavellan, starving and cold just like their Dalish counterparts. It was all an unnecessary mess, one that Wyn did not look forward to confronting again.

Her mind wandered to yesterday’s dinner conversation with Threnn. She had been a part of such things, whether or not she consciously participated. What was even more sinister is that whoever she reported to had the foresight to obfuscate their intentions from her: Better to malign her reputation than it would be to just be honest.

The thought was bitter and overshadowed the sourness on her tongue over the idea that Threnn had still been a part of such evil, and that it had taken until now for her to realize—whether that was true or not.

No...the pain in her eyes had been genuine. She believed in Loghain and what he represented to the Fereldan people, regardless of how problematic he was—how wrong he’d been for so many other Fereldans who weren’t human: Her life had taught her to think otherwise.

She’d had the foresight to come to Wyn and offer an apology, to try and understand. It was difficult to not be swayed by her, to want to give her that chance.

Wyn put aside the thought with a sigh and concentrated on the mission at hand.

“You look troubled,” Solas’ voice broke through her thoughts.

Startled, Wyn instinctively tugged on the reins of her horse to steady her.

“My apologies, Herald. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said.

Wyn shook her head and peered at the back of Seeker Pentaghast as she rode ahead. “Don’t be. I should be focusing on what we’re here for.”

Solas seemed unconvinced by Wyn’s attempt to change the conversation and merely lifted his thin brows. A curious man. Neither Dalish nor claimed to be of an alienage, though his familiarity with them spoke to an origin among shems more than it did elves. He was unlike any other apostate Wyn had encountered. Well, with the exception of arrogance, but that was a trait common to mages.

He lifted his brows again.

Oh fine. “I think of…” Wyn’s voice trailed off and Wyn felt her cheeks redden. “I’m remembering an interaction I had yesterday with someone in town.”

His brows went higher.

“Threnn. The Quartermaster.”

“I was going to ask you when we were in a more private setting,” Cassandra ventured.

Solas’ brows lowered into a disapproving frown. “I see.” He said evenly.

“She came to me. Wanted to apologize for assuming I was one of the servants and invited me to a dinner.”

“I must admit I was a little surprised to see you with her. Now that I know the context, one of the things I hope for is that the Inquisition will help solve feelings of isolation, suspicion. Only together can we hope to end this madness.” Cassandra’s words were true and reminded Wyn more of her conversation with Threnn.

“Admittedly, I don’t know what to think. She’s as contradictory as the city we go to. Though...her failings are as much the fault of society as they are hers for her ignorance, but malice is the farthest thing I detect from her. I want to like her but...” Wyn’s cheeks colored again.

“I would say you do,” Varric kidded.

Wyn rolled her eyes. “There are things about her I like. She makes me laugh, she’s thoughtful, willing to try...attractive.”

“Tell me more,” Varric replied with an eager grin.

As the party made their way down the gentle slope leading away from the Frostbacks, the trees pulled back a little, revealing soft, green grass, and the scatterings of a small village ahead. Keenly aware that Wyn was wearing the bright colors of the Inquisition and her mage staff, and the Right Hand of the Divine would be plainly noticed, she motioned or quiet as they neared.

“I assure you, the story is very boring. Not worth your pages, Varric, but I will tell you when we are out of earshot.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Morning” had come and gone and progressed into other mornings even more bitter than the last, as though Wyn Lavellan had taken all of the warmth the world had to offer with her. Since that day, only snow fell, like elegant tears from Andraste herself at the absence of her Herald. Trying not to think too much of it, Threnn had thrown herself head-first into her work, bringing in supplies as quickly as she could and turning around finds that the Inquisition party managed to scrounge up to take the pressure off of Harritt, Mother Giselle, and anyone else who needed something, which happened to be most of Haven.

Lady Josephine had explained to Threnn that The Herald was off to Val Royeaux to try and put down the war between the mages and Templars, a bloody conflict that managed to consume most of Thedas and had been wreaking havoc on the supply lines between Haven and Threnn’s normal contacts.

As much as the idea of Wyn being in a place like Val Royeaux soured her stomach, any progress she could make might open up trade with Orlais and give the Inquisition more of a fighting chance. Queen Anora was doing her best maintaining what she had, but it was clear that the war was taking a greater toll on her beleaguered nation and her focus was on preserving what little trade Ferelden had before trying to secure anything new.

In the back of her mind, Threnn knew whatever she could do from way up here in the Frostbacks stood to impact her former Kingdom, for better or worse. Seeking out materials from Orlais of all places, a Nation that still tasted the wounds of rebellion and salivated over what it lost. Threnn didn't look forward to the day when curled accents and the stench of perfume wafted across her table.

What Orlais had to offer could only benefit the Inquisition, Threnn reminded herself, hearing both Josephine and Lady Cassandra in her head...and Wyn. It was her life on the line as much as it was Threnn’s wasn’t it? Her mind traveled across the memory of the Herald and the way the sun would be catching the strands of platinum hair if she were here like she wished.

Threnn gazed at the hastily sewn together Inquisition Heraldry, the one just above the Chantry door, sewn by Threnn’s own hand. The icy wind from the tops of the mountains caught the stained cloth and blew it back and then folded it around the sunburst signifying the Chantry influence; even though the Inquisition had none to speak of. Lady Lavellan would return soon, and the harder she worked, the less there would be to trouble her.

“Pardon me, Quartermaster...” a voice interrupted her thoughts.

It was the Southerly accent of Minaeve. She stood on the opposite side of her desk and looked at her with a slightly intimidated curiosity.

“Yes...what can I help you with?” Threnn asked.

“Quartermaster!” Bellowed a burly, bearded soldier and shoved the elf mage aside while holding up a parchment. Dispatch come for you from Val Royeaux.” He said, using a boorish gut to shove Minaeve off to the side.

Instantly hating him, Threnn bit down on her anger and pointed behind Minaeve. “Thank you, soldier. You can wait to deliver it back there while I help Minaeve, here.” She gestured to the redhaired elven woman who now stood off to the side, looking at the ground.

“It’s marked urgent, Master,” the soldier insisted.

“And so is whatever Minaeve needed help with. To the back of the line with you,” Threnn said more forcefully.

“You would delay a message from the Herald, herself, for this...cotton-tail apostate? Commander Cullen won’t like that!” The soldier shot, sticking his dark, hairy face acrosss the table at Threnn and looking sour. His accent was Ferelden as was his bearing, though he was as young as he was stupid...and arrogant. Likely to cover up the fact that he knew, deep down, that Threnn had seen far more of the underside of life than he could imagine. She also knew the tradition like any other red-blooded Fereldan: If this were still the Army, what he was doing would have been enough of a challenge for Threnn (or Minaeve if she wanted) to have it out right here in the courtyard in front of every witness in Haven. However, this wasn’t Ferelden, Threnn reminded herself again, and there was a new way of doing things.

“It’s all right...” Minaeve ventured.

“Then march right off with you to tell him,” Threnn countered without missing a beat. “He can have it out with me all you like while you wait as I asked. I won’t have some Blighted fuck knocking over women at my table, and I have it on good authority that the same elf apostate whose message you carry would agree with me. Unless you’d rather settle this the old fashioned way...” Threnn's arm twitched as she lifted it off the table. It had been a while since she hit someone proper, but it all came back like an itch.

The soldier’s hairy nostrils flared, pushing out the disgusting, uncleaned hairs of his moustache. His breath smelled of rottenness as did his clothes. Thankfully, he knew better than to continue with his challenge and backed off, clearing the air between them.

Reaching into a pouch, he produced a small, Silverite vial and tossed it on the table with a growled apology more to Threnn than he did Minaeve and finally acknowledged the latter with a nod before leaving.

It was the best that Threnn would get out of him, but she set it aside that once her visit with Minaeve had ended, it would be best to bring this man’s conduct to the attention to Lady Josephine. Or catch him when there weren’t more pressing matters.

“Thank you, Quartermaster,” Minaeve said, taking her original place in front of her table. “I half hoped you’d hit him.”

“Day’s still young,” Threnn countered. “What can I do for you?”

“It seems silly now. Sister Nightingale has informed me that some of our soldiers have encountered new beasts that weren’t recorded during the last Blight. If it’s possible, any of our scouts, or the Herald, herself, can manage to get a few samples, it would help us with new potions and magics that could counter them.” Minaeve unfolded a parchment of her own and handed it to Threnn.

Looking it over Threnn nodded. “I’ll have it added, and I will send something to Lady Lavellan. Have you heard from her?” She asked.

“No, but you have,” Minaeve said with a light giggle and pointed to the vial.

“Right...” Threnn’s eyes turned to it. The vial still held some of its polish, but it had picked up some dirt and tarnish from riding around in that pile of squalor that had delivered it. Having been freed from its captor, it held the sun similar to the Herald that had once touched it; whose words were carried inside.

What could they be? A poem, a sonnet, or perhaps just a report or a list of items that she needed. Whatever it could be, the idea of hearing some word from Wyn was enough to send her heart a flutter.

Unbeknownst to her, a wistful smile tugged on the corner of Threnn’s ordinary scowl as she picked up the letter carrier and turned it over in her hands.

“You might try opening it, Quartermaster,” Minaeve ventured with amusement.

Embarrassed, Threnn glanced at the elven woman and opened it. Inside was a small bit of parchment held together by a knotted piece of royal sea silk. Threnn didn’t remember her with such fabric nor had she put in a requisition for it, and wondered if it might be a surprise or perhaps a favor of some kind. Did Dalish do that?

Untying the band of silk, she laid it carefully underneath the weight of her ledger book and unrolled it. On its yellow face was, in fact, a list of items that were needed. Threnn recognized her own handwriting along with the Herald’s. “Just business as usual...” she said with disappointment and moved to copy the list to her book when faint text caught her eye.

“Hello.” Threnn frowned and gazed at the parchment again. 

“Let me see.” Minaeve came around the edge of the table and looked to where Threnn pointed. “I don’t see anything.”

Threnn frowned. “It’s right there,” she pointed at the text and then read it aloud. It was a crude limerick that was, perhaps, not fitting for the ears Threnn hadn’t yet considered a friend.

Minaeve turned a reddish color and then smiled broadly. “I believe, Master, she has given you, Ah’nha Lethallin...” Minaeve said. “Loosely translated, Friend’s Song or Tome of the Friend. It’s a tradition borne of a darker time, but has taken on a happier meaning,. Dalish enchanters will sometimes inscribe poems or letters, or in this case, tawdry limericks to people they are fond of as a sign of affection.”

“I’m glad to know she doesn’t hate me,” Threnn said absently and produced the bundle left for her from one of her pouches. “She left me this as well.”

Minaeve amusement worsened and she hid her mouth to avoid embarrassing Threnn too much. However, it seemed the damage had been done and she was as red as the hair of her eyebrows. Minaeve couldn't help but let out a chuckle. "This is something else Dalish do to show affection—mostly women, but some Clans are different. Enchanted talismans are given to bring good fortune to people who they view as special. It's a well-wish, but I think it's safe to say that it can also be interpreted as her intention to um...pursue...something with you. Friendship or something a little bit more, judging by your expression. And it's not just a simple talisman, there's a blessing on it."

“There is?” Threnn asked, numb as she realized her suspicions were slowly being confirmed.

Minaeve nodded. “The magic is light but there, like a pleasant song. What was the note she left?”

Threnn opened the bundle and read it back to Minaeve. It wasn’t anything near as amusing as the limerick, but what appeared to be a small history lesson having to do with Clans of the Free Marches and some of the elven gods.

“It’s the story of the Creators, or well...what she could fit on just one page of tiny paper. And one of the more romantic interpretations.”

“We had a dinner the other night...my idea to make amends for my rude comments earlier in the day toward her...” Threnn stumbled over her thoughts and words. “She...well I...just proceeded to bury my boot in my mouth and she didn’t take so kindly to some of my viewpoints, but… she didn’t shy away from me and she um...kissed my cheek when she parted. Then I woke up to find this.”

“Talismans and letters. Sounds like you did something right.”

“Can’t imagine what that was. Any advice?”

Minaeve shook her head. “Most of my time in this world has been in the Circle. Not much time to be fancying, and even if I wasn’t so far removed from my Clan, I don’t know if their traditions would translate, or if Lady Lavellan would take offense or not. Do you like her?”

Threnn thought again of Wyn Lavellan and the way she smiled against the firelight, the way her ideas danced on a song and kissed Threnn in parts of her soul she hadn’t known were there. She’d done her best to try and not think about her while she was absent, but found that in doing so, made her miss the Herald all the more.

And there was that: She was the Herald of Andraste, and not some simple elf. Not one of these souls wandering the yard looking cold and hungry. Did she even believe in Andraste?

Even if she didn’t...what could the woman she saluted every day possibly see in her?

“Threnn?” Minaeve asked.

Threnn turned her eyes to the redhaired elf and imagined Wyn standing where she was, breeze brushing the strands of her hair back, a smile threatening the edges of her full lips. Having her back here, safe, and if it was true that she had her attention, it was the happiest feeling in the world. Threnn wanted so much more; she wanted to know everything. She nodded dumbly at Minaeve.

Minaeve picked up Threnn’s quill and handed it to her. “Write her back and then come find me. I’ll help you with the enchantment.”


	7. Chapter 7

Knowing what to say and actually writing it down were two different things. Thanks to meticulous instruction by her parents, and later Anora’s tutors, writing was a learned skill Threnn had, but it had only been used to write ledgers and lists, never creatively, and never with such importance.

What could she say to the Herald of Andraste anyway?

 _“I hope you are faring well in Orlais?"_ Did Wyn even like Orlais? Had she been there before? It was certainly no place for an elf. Especially one that talked back and was in a position of authority. Not that any place in Thedas was a safe place for an elf, but Orlais was worse than others...except maybe the Dales, considering the Herald’s clan _lived_ in the Dales and there were other Dalish Clans still living in the Dales. But she knew about that, and the last thing that Wyn would want was to be reminded of her place in society--

Threnn stopped herself and put her hands on her head. “Not like that, Threnn,” she scolded and let out of a puff of air. Her place in society was here in the Inquisition as Andraste’s Herald, a fierce warrior who was here to save all of Thedas. How would impact all of the elves?

Threnn rose from the chair she sat in and gazed at the fire. Minaeve was kind enough to convince Mother Giselle to let her have this ante room to herself in the Chantry, quiet, away from everything else. It was warm in here and the fluttering flames of the fire in the fireplace made Threnn think of Lady Lavellan. With the season beginning to turn, it had to be getting cold in Val Royeaux. Threnn made a mental note to draw up a requisition list for druffalo and bear hide, with winter coming the soldiers would need it...Wyn would need it.

She thought of sitting before this fire, a bear skin rug wrapped around the both of them, Lady Lavellan against her chest. It was a pleasant thought that made Threnn smile with a joy that her soul had long forgotten.

_Dearest Herald,_

_I sit before a fire in the Chantry, wondering what to write to you and I’m coming up empty. Firstly, I want to thank you for taking the time to write me. Your words meant a great deal to me, as did receiving your letters. It fills me with great pleasure that you are well and I am flattered you thought of me. I think of you too. Often. I quite agree with Minaeve that writing you back would be proper. If it could be seen that thinking of and writing to the Herald of Andraste as a lowly Quartermaster is at all proper._

_Whatever I might say seems rude or far too trite in comparison to the way I feel when I think about you. Which is frequent. You’re quite distracting in a way I want to be distracted, but not too distracted that I neglect my work. We do have an Army to run; you have an army to run, and it’s my job to turn them into a force to be reckoned with._

_This fire also makes me worry about you in the cold. I know how much you hate it. Please be safe on your journey, and don’t let the Orlesian bastards get to you. They’ll try, but you’re stronger than they can ever wish to be._

_The list that I have enclosed is just something so that it doesn’t look like I’m sending you a blank piece of paper. Don’t get me wrong, we need these supplies and if you could fetch them while you are out, I would be grateful._

_More importantly, I look forward to your return with great anticipation._

_Yours Truly,_

_Threnn, Quartermaster_

Willing herself to be satisfied with the letter, Threnn dried the ink and paired it with the list of supplies she’d prepared and took it to Minaeve who was pouring over creature guts of some kind near Josephine’s office.

\- - - - - - 

Minaeve looked up as the door opened and beckoned for the Quartermaster to enter. She was still dressed in her green and orange Inquisition infantry uniform as usual and clutched the fresh parchment in her hands nervously, looking a bit like a schoolgirl caught passing notes in class.

She was in a way, Minaeve mused with a smile as she put down her research and took the paper from Threnn’s hands. She did her best not to read it, but casting the enchantment on the ink made it unavoidable. It was youthfully sweet, which belied the rigidness and age of the seasoned soldier before her, and revealed more about Threnn's character than Minaeve anticipated. Like many of the other elves in camp, Threnn had been a source of worry, but she had proven herself to be benign. Unconventionally beautiful, her attraction was more in her talents of slinging curse words as well as she did a sword, and anyone fancying someone tall could certainly do worse than the quartermaster. Considering that Threnn kept mostly to herself and spit vinegar at anyone else attempting to get close, the idea of her fancying anyone was a bit surprising. What was even more surprising was that it was the Herald of Andraste of all people. Not that Threnn was unworthy of such a lofty creature like Wynaelora Lavellan, but that a Dalish mage could look past her obvious flaws and see someone she wanted.

Being a Circle mage, romance wasn’t something that came for Minaeve, but she had witnessed it between mages in the Circle, Templars. Through Cassandra, Minaeve had come to appreciate the machinations of love. The idea that love could find its way here to this dreary camp and into this dreary life, especially between these two, filled Minaeve with a new found resolve to continue working. She had to see the end of it.

Minaeve wasn’t as familiar with the spells Wynaelora was using, some of which were more arcane forms of Dalish magic, likely from Clans who had long since been lost to the ages. She did her best and wove Threnn’s words around something she knew from her own Clan.

“Tell me Quartermaster,” Minaeve said, turning to face her new friend and handed her letter back. “What do you know of Dalish courting traditions.”

Threnn looked dumb for a moment. “Seeing as I have had little contact with the Dalish until now, nothing.”

Minaeve twisted into a smirk. She made her way through her door and into Josephine’s office with the tall, redhaired, soldier trailing behind her. There was a book, disguised as Dalish trade tactics that Josephine kept...here it was. Plucking a dusty red-covered title-less book from the shelf, Minaeve wiped the sleeve of her robes across it and handed it to Threnn.

“Read that over.”

Threnn frowned and turned it over in her hands, opening the pages. “This is really old...and not very exciting.”

“It will be if you go to Chapter 17 and read through it. Not sure what customs Lavellan adheres to, but I’d read it over. I think she’d appreciate the effort, at least--” Minaeve stopped herself. “That is, if you’re serious about her.”

At that Threnn turned a shade of red that Minaeve had never thought possible for a human. She suppressed a snicker and urged Threnn out the door before the Ambassador returned and found her in here. While Josephine was as surprisingly mindful of privacy for someone who worked so long in and around the Orlesian Court, she was still Antivan and Orlesian, and that was enough to warrant a measure of discretion for as long as time allowed.

Which for someone as loud and Fereldan as Threnn remained to be seen.

“I’m not sure,” Threnn stammered as she was ushered outside, book still in her hand.

“Read it anyway. It might make your interactions with her go more smoothly anyway, even if you decide not to fancy her.”


	8. Chapter 8

Decide not to fancy her?

It took Threnn a moment to realize she was outside and in the cold. Minaeve had gone back inside the Chantry and the sun was now thoroughly blocked by the frosty tops of the Frostbacks, turning the milky clouds of the early day into a gray made all the murky by the swirling hole in the sky. The Herald had fallen out of that sky and here...right into this camp. Well, not here, here, it had been at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, but it had been here. Threnn remembered watching her being pulled from the dungeon below the Chantry, dirty, bloody, hands held in chains and pulled by Seeker Pentaghast. It seemed so long ago. But it wasn’t. She gazed back down at the book in her hands, it's tattered brown leather staring back at her with a promise that she was suddenly afraid of.

Perhaps it was because that Wyn Lavellan hadn’t been the person Threnn took her to be. That was the idea behind prejudice wasn’t it? Conjecture compacted by rumor and elevated by liars bent on selfish ambition. That was a thought and Threnn felt the start of a headache. 

Slowly, she made her way back to her tent, Hess looking more curious at her the more he regarded her.

“What news?” Threnn asked, lifting her eyes to distract him.

“All is well, Master. I stand relieved...” he moved to step aside but Threnn stopped him with a hand.

“Not yet. Watch the table for a moment.” Threnn set the book down went through the flap in her tent. She rummaged around her desk for something to tie her letter together. She hadn’t anything as ornate as the silk ribbon that Wyn had wrapped the recent one in, and she thought of reusing it, but wondered if in doing so, it would be rude.

Searching the depths of her belongings and found a ribbon that was wrapped around a decoration that she’d been given long ago by Loghain himself, and would be decorating her chest if she was ever in a position to wear a uniform fitting enough for it.

What would he say about this?

He hadn’t spoken to her about how he met Celia and she was too young to remember many details of she and him together. In Anora’s presence, he seemed a distant man; as loving as his kind of man would allow.

She’d been given this medal for her bravery during a skirmish just outside Denerim during the Blight that she remembered all too vividly, but tried to blot out of her mind: The day she lost Luce. Threnn blinked back tears and sat on the floor of the tent, staring at the yellow and brown silk as it shimmered under the flickering light of a nearby candle.

Threnn let out a long sigh and struggled to remain together. A moment ago, she was so sure about what she wanted, but the memories that surfaced about that day, kneeling bloody and screaming into Loghain’s arms as Luce lay before her. It had been like this hadn’t it? Death knocking at the door and she’d thrown caution to the wind with the idea that love could conquer all. Pressing the cool Silverite of the medallion to her lips.

“What would you say, Luce?” She asked.

The tent was quiet save for the bitter wind hitting the sides of the thick canvas. Threnn thought of the Herald outside in the cold, and the way she looked the last time she saw her. So much hope, eyes that seemed just for her and those words meant for her heart alone.

She read Wyn’s last note one more time. If Luce were here, she would say that Wyn deserved a chance, that Threnn deserved to give her that chance.

But she was the Herald of Andraste.

Exactly. Wyn was the hero. Twice blessed by the Maker Himself, and by her own god she wore on her face, whose love she carried in her heart along with thoughts of Threnn. Denying her would be cruel, it would mean that the Darkspawn or the Demons or whoever it was out to kill them this time would have a certain victory.

Isolation, divide and conquer were always the enemy’s tactic whether it be blatantly on the battlefield or through more subversive means, one of those being despair. Wyn was here on her own, her family far from here and not a soul in sight. She hadn’t spoken of many friends, and remembering Threnn’s second encounter, it seemed she had encountered only frustration from people she wanted to trust. 

Wyn’s mission in Orlais, however, perilous, would be far more successful if she knew that the person she was writing to was thinking of her in return. In honesty, Threnn would continue to think of Wyn regardless of whether she wrote her in return.

And...Luce deserved a better memory than clinging to bitter pain.

Untying the brown and yellow ribbon from the medallion, Threnn wrapped it around her letter and kissed it, whispering a prayer to Andraste as she stuffed it in a messenger vial and emerged from her tent.

The buffoon that delivered the message before wore the colors of the a camp just on the other side of the Frostbacks. At the moment, Threnn had no officers in Val Royeaux, nor would she trust the likes of him or anyone else with such an important message. Even if what they would see if they were to get curious was just a Requisition order.

Hess regarded her with even more curiosity as Threnn bade him to stay a bit longer with her eyes and made her way to Sister Leliana’s tent.

Leliana was the second of the two Hands of the Divine she’d met, the first one being Cassandra whom she had encountered before Cassandra’s voyage to Kirkwall.

Unlike her counterpart, Leliana was less intimidating, and carried a quiet serenity about her that commanded respect. Physically, she looked like an ordinary Chantry sister, plain in her beauty, small in stature, fair skin, and if the hood were pushed off her head, long red hair an even brighter color than Threnn’s.

Leliana was, however, no ordinary Chantry sister. Not only was she in command of all of the Inquisitions scouts and spies, but rumor had it that she was the secret wife of Lady Sara Amell, the Hero of Ferelden. However...that was still conjecture, and not a subject that was any of Threnn’s business.

However, if it were true, it did make the Quartermaster feel better for what she was about to ask.

“Good evening, Quartermaster,” Leliana greeted, turning her head. She did her best to smile as warmly as possible, but it was clear that something was troubling her.

“I beg your pardon for interrupting, Sister, but I have a request.” Threnn held out the vial to the Sister. “I know the Herald is in Val Royeaux and we don’t have a post there. She sent me a letter recently that I would like—I think she would like it if I responded, but we don’t have a camp there. I was wondering if one of your birds could take it to her.”

Leliana’s expression remained unchanged and she took the vial and looked at it. “You have messengers that I have assigned you.”

Threnn shifted nervously. “This one I don’t want going out with them. It’s best that it arrive through other channels.”

“I see.” Leliana’s face twisted into a half-smile. “I understand the need for discretion, Quartermaster. However, if I am to divert my resources and risk the Herald, you will have to give me more context.”

Threnn was quiet a moment and wondered if she made a mistake in coming to Leliana. Wyn was still the Herald of Andraste and she wasn’t sure if she was ready for half the camp to be whispering about the two of them. Nothing was going on, yet, or possibly ever, this was silly...she rolled her eyes and moved to take the vial back.

Leliana handed it back without protest. “It’s okay to tell me, Threnn. I heard about your encounter with Wynaelora yesterday in the Chantry. Nicely done, and better than most in this camp.”

Threnn reddened and felt cross. Bellowing at the Sister would do no good and likely get her a bloody nose or two.

Leliana studied her officer and softened as perceptibly as she allowed. “I would be happy to have your message delivered. Your Herald fares well, but her mission ahead will prove difficult. She’ll be happy to hear from you I am sure.”

“If it would make her smile,” Threnn blurted out and caught herself. She handed the vial back to Leliana.

“These are troubling times, especially for the Herald. While we cannot afford too much distraction, there aren't enough smiles around here. I will have your message delivered, but understand she may not be able to respond.”

“Yes, Sister. Thank you.” Threnn curtsied slightly and took her leave from the Sister, both excited and nervous as to what was ahead.


	9. Chapter 9

An unexpected visit from a noisy bird awoke Wyn from her tent and brought her into the morning sunlight just in time to see Seeker Cassandra unraveling a note from one of its feet.

“Sister Leliana,” Cassandra explained. “I believe this one is named George.”

“She names her crows?” Wyn asked, rubbing her eyes and squinting past the blinding rays as they poked past the distant mountains.

“She names everything. You should ask her about her nugs sometime.” Cassandra opened the messenger flask and gazed at it. A frown knit her sharp eyebrows together and she turned over the bundle of papers in her hands, tied together with what looked like a brown and yellow silk ribbon. “This is from a Ferelden Order of the Blade,” she muttered.

“Let me see.” Wyn approached and stood on the shady side of the Seeker, grateful for the Nevarran woman’s massive size.

Cassandra untied the ribbon and unrolled the bits of parchment. On it, there was a list written in handwriting that Wyn recognized to be Threnn’s. “It’s a requisition order from the Quartermaster,” Cassandra stated the obvious and resisted a smirk as she glanced at Wyn. She turned over the paper underneath it. “And it looks like a blank piece of paper. She must have forgotten it was there, or perhaps wanted us to send her a response.”

Wyn frowned and looked at the second paper and the handwriting scrawled on it. “I don’t think it’s blank.”

Cassandra gave her a look and turned it over. “There’s nothing there.”

“May I?” Wyn asked and took the second piece of parchment from Cassandra. Recognizing the chicken scratch from a familiar hasty hand, a warmth filled her heart as she realized what it was. “It’s called Ah’nha Lethallin and meant for me alone. During times of war, enchanters in my clan will sometimes send these to our scouts with the idea it can only be read by its recipient. Also...sometimes we use it to convey something deeply personal to someone who means something to us.”

Cassandra’s frown deepened and she came around the other side of Wyn.

The blinding sun was back in Wyn’s face but she didn’t care anymore. The precious words sang to her as she read, scrawled in an enchanted text that only she could read. Threnn was no mage, so she had to have gotten someone to help her with this.

“A love letter,” Cassandra commented.

Wyn’s face warmed at the idea. “I’m not sure if I’d call it that. I uh...” her voice trailed off and she met the Seeker’s gaze.

Cassandra’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “You’ve talked of her since we left and now she sends you this.”

“Admittedly, it’s a response to something I sent her just after we left.”

Cassandra looked as though she ignored her instinctual suspicion and then looked thoughtful. “I had no idea Threnn had been so decorated.” She looked over the ribbon in her hands.

“Me either.”

“She values her service to Loghain above all else. I wouldn’t take it lightly that she chose to include this in her response.” Cassandra handed it to Wyn.

Wyn inspected it. The cloth was still bright and shiny, no signs of wear or insect bites and it smelled faintly of her, like home, yet she’d never had a home with Threnn before. It was a pleasant thought and enough to scare her. “Seeker, have you ever felt connected to someone so strongly and it absolutely makes no sense?”

Cassandra looked thoughtful and then sad for a moment. “No.” She approached. “I advise caution, Herald. Quartermaster Threnn is an honorable woman, but you are still the Herald of Andraste and someone she serves. Taking her as your woman could damage not just you, but her.”

Before Wyn could respond, rustling at the other tents distracted the two of them.

Varric squinted into the light and shielded his eyes. “Can Orlesian sunrises be more annoying?”

Wyn couldn’t help a laugh. “I thought the same thing. I vote that we all stand behind the Seeker for the remainder of the day.”

Cassandra pursed her lips. “Our backs will be squarely at the sun unless any of you intend to ride backwards.”

“Don’t underestimate, Seeker,” Wyn retorted causing a snort from Varric.

“Shall we strike the camp?” Solas asked.


	10. Chapter 10

Wyn didn’t remember much of the rest of the journey along the Imperial Highway toward Val Royeaux. She thought of the Seeker’s words about Threnn. They were true and in more ways than one.

It was one thing to fancy Threnn, but it was another to actually take advantage of her. And that would be exactly how others would see it: Herald taking advantage of a commoner, and an attractive one at that, one with access to coin; she would have enchanted the poor woman into sleeping with her. However that would go.

Wyn pushed aside the idea of how those pouty, strawberry hued lips would feel against the skin of her neck, lest the burn in her thighs become unmanageable.

She shifted on her saddle and Horse snorted.

“Shush,” Wyn chided. There was another matter at hand.

Val Royeaux was now close enough that the high peaks of the White Spire and the Grand Cathedral could be plainly seen from where they rode. Somewhere inside those walls was a disaster not only caused by the mage and Templars, but the mess created by the entire Civil War.

While Wynaelora had never met Celene or Briala in person, their exploits were something not unknown to Clan Lavellan. Elves fleeing the chaos often spoke of the burning of Halamshiral and the betrayal by Empress Celene.

How would it appear that the vaunted Herald of Andraste, an elf, took not just one of Loghain’s followers but someone easily viewed as a co-conspirator in Ferelden’s own purge? Whether she had been telling the truth or not.

The thought made Wyn’s stomach turn and Horse seemed to catch on and moved to the side of the road and leaned toward the grass lest her rider lose control of her breakfast. Better on the lawn than in her mane. Horse was fussy like that, but also thoughtful.

Comforted, Wyn patted her mare’s neck and whispered Dalish words of reassurance into her ears. “No...I don’t think she was lying to me.” Wyn exhaled, her mind going back to Threnn’s face and the way she looked as she prepared supper. “I really don’t think she has dishonest bone in her body, and if she wanted to ruin me, she could do it more easy than getting me to fall in love with her. That sort of story would be something I’d expect in some backwater smut.”

All of this was something better left to be contemplated later when her focus should be on Val Royeaux and the unrest that lay within their walls. Also...the war and her role in it.

Loving Threnn whether possible or not wouldn’t win the war, but focusing on her work would make it possible to contemplate something more personal.

An idea spurred in her head and she tugged on the reins to fall back to where Cassandra rode.

\- - - - - - 

Templars and mages, mages and Templars. No land in Thedas had been spared from this war, and Val Royeaux was right in the center, which was made even more evident by the state of the glistening gates guarding the Southern most entrance to the city.

To the untrained eye, the Dragonbone gates sparkled as they always did in the rising sun, but to an Orlesian, the specks of soot and mud were glaring. The mighty Orlesian capitol had seen better days, and if the information gathered from passersby was true, the unrest between its own collection of meatheaded Templars and foolish mages was enough to cause this type of chaos.

It was on Wyn’s insistence that the party enter the city through here instead of the Easterly gates, which would have placed them at the center of the market. The Southern entrance was the longest way into the city, both by destination and emotional toll as it led straight into the slums.

“Like a guilded cage,” Solas muttered just loud enough for Wyn to hear.

Wyn nodded to him and tugged on Horse’s reins to slow her as they approached.

The gate guard had seen them coming from miles away, but only stirred when they were within range of the archers who had, no doubt, trained their practiced bows straight at the heart of everyone. Except for maybe Seeker Cassandra.

Wyn nodded silently to the Seeker to urge her to speak to the Guard-Lieutenant.

“You should be the one to talk,” Cassandra encouraged.

“No...I will go with you, but they will want to speak with you. Trust me,’ Wyn replied.

Solas and Varric stayed at a safe, yet tactical distance, still mounted on their horses.

“Ho!” The fancily decorated masked man raised a gloved hand while placing the other on the hilt of his sword. His armor was freshly polished silverite and he wore the colors of Empress Celene, though Wyn got the impression looking at him that his uniform was merely a formality.

Then again, everything was a formality in Orlais wasn’t it? She mused.

He wore a mask that covered his entire face, and was made of the same, glistening material. It wasn’t difficult to read his emotions at all, nor was it difficult to imagine why he would be stuck out here instead of inside and in a more luxurious post.

Wyn dismounted Horse and let go of her reins, whispering a light word of caution in her native tongue and watched the beast step away to keep herself at an acceptable distance in case Wyn needed last minute rescuing, or she needed to flee for her own safety.

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” Cassandra greeted. “I am Seeker Cassandra, and this is Lady Wynaelora. We are here with the Inquisition on invitation.” She handed a rolled up parchment to the man.

The guard paused a moment and let the his mask linger on Wyn as he tried to figure her out, and then stirred once his eyes caught notice of the Inquisition emblems on either side of her coat and the enchanter staff slung across Wyn’s back.

“The Herald of Andraste,” he said dryly as though reality was finally starting to sink in. “Unless you like having your belongings stolen and the smell of rabbit piss, you and your friends would be better off entering from over there, Lady Cassandra.” Predictably, the guard Lieutenant kept his eyes on Cassandra and seemed to not even look at Wyn let alone address her.

“I’m not scared of a few elves, Seeker, are you?” Wyn asked sarcastically of her companion.

“I quake in my boots,” Cassandra shot back with a wry smile.

“Suit yourself,” the Lieutenant cut in and handed back their orders to Cassandra. “You are cleared to enter. You know our laws, Seeker. Be mindful of them and keep your people under control. Disturbing the elves will only get you trouble.”


	11. Chapter 11

Not far beyond the gates and the guard huts, elves bustled about the dirt-lined cobbles of the streets, flitting to and fro carrying wares in their arms, children, animals, and down-turned gazes that were filled with a mixture of curiosity and scorn. Loose chickens scurried under the feet of its residents and its new guests alike, crowing with irritation when they weren’t seen and accidentally kicked or stepped on.

Waste from animal and body odor mingled with the scent of food far too sinful for the dainty palettes of Orlesian nobles: Discarded or “donated” ram hocks, vegetables “gifted” from human tables which danced around in pans filled with lard and their own pickling. It was the scent of poverty as well as life itself. This was the heart of Val Royeaux, and all of Orlais, whether or not the Empress believed it to be.

Wyn had chosen to stay dismounted and urged her party to do the same. She held Horse’s reins and she followed along behind, matching the party’s casual pace.

Onlookers studied Wyn and the mage staff behind her head, and recognized Seeker Cassandra. For the most part, they stayed at a safe distance, some slinked away. Muttering hit Wyn’s ears: The Herald of Andraste. What is she doing here? That’s Seeker Cassandra. There are two elves. Who takes orders from whom? I had no idea she was a mage. She’s shorter than I expected. Is that Varric Tethras?

The farther they made their way into the slums the more expensive and ill-fitting Wyn’s tailored ram hide leather trench and obsidian fire staff felt.

“Cassandra, how many days provisions do we have?” Wyn asked.

“One day past just in case of trouble.” Cassandra replied. “Don’t give it to them,” she cautioned.

“And why would I not?” Wyn stopped and looked at the taller Seeker, her face blinded by the bright clouds aloft.

“Doing so would only paint a target on them, and risk making an enemy of the nobles. At the moment, we are not in a position to have the Imperial Court breathing down our necks.”

Cassandra was right. With the Empress’ hold on the nobility tenuous at best, Val Royeaux elite could be best described as lawless, and there was no telling who was loyal to who and who was loyal to Celene's nemesis, Grand Duke Gaspard. All of this meant that the elves of Orlais were right in the middle and it was open season for these poor souls.

Wyn’s heart chilled the more she thought. There was a reason for coming this way and it wasn’t just to remind herself that there was more than one Thedas.

Wyn motioned for her companions to follow as she led them into a narrow alley just off the middle square, dropping coins casually into the dirt as she went. She’d dropped nearly fifteen silver before Cassandra caught it and protested. “Really must speak to Harritt about some new pants when I get back.” She shrugged and led them further down the passage.

The buildings on either side were of an age that even Solas wasn’t able to tell, and had such a lean on them that they blotted out the sun. Odors organic and unidentifiable became more pungent the further into the depths they traveled and eyes attached to sooty bodies scattered into porches and between the buildings like mice.

“Reminds me of Kirkwall,” Varric muttered.

Wyn knew Kirkwall by reputation better than she did memory, but this street and its inhabitants didn't fit her last memories of the Orlesian capitol. Orlais hadn’t been kind to them, and it was with breath held out of sorrow that she continued on.

At the end of the road was the shop that Wyn had been looking for. The building itself was probably older than the rest of the city, once elegant but whose plaster edifice was mostly gone revealing decrepit stone bricks, and sagged under the weight of age and decades of neglect. The windows in the bottom floor were lit with crude lanterns and candles, and there had once been a sign above the door that was long gone leaving only the rusted arm to indicate that fortune once thrived here.

"Mythal's Grace, what happened here?" Wyn muttered mostly to herself, but her comment wasn't lost on either Cassandra or Solas. She paused before the closed, cracked wooden door, and rapped on it a total of three times and in such a way she knew its occupant, if she were still here, would know.

From inside a grumbled swear in a gnarled voice could be heard and shuffling about until the door opened to reveal a sooty, but very attractive dark-skinned elf. She let her dark eyes settle on Wyn for a moment. They widened as she realized who it was before her.

“Holy shit,” she declared and then glanced at the party, her eyes settling on Lady Cassandra. “And you even brought the Chantry.”

“Good to see you too, Mace,” Wyn replied, swallowing a bit of humor and turned to the rest of her companions. “Allow me to introduce Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, Ser Varric Tethras, and Solas. Everyone, this is Mace Lavellan.”

“Delighted,” Mace said dryly, still keeping her eyes on Cassandra. “I presume you haven’t dragged this noble lot into the muck of Val Royeaux to show them how a real Orlesian lives.”

“No, I am here on business,” Wyn replied.

Mace laughed. “If it’s business you seek, you come to the wrong place, girl. Come in, and you may tie your rides to whatever you can find out there. Nobody out there is stupid enough to be a horse thief.”


	12. Chapter 12

The inside of Mace’s shop wasn’t at all how Wyn remembered. Dust stung Wyn’s face and eyes and Cassandra paused to let out a loud, wet sneeze, which startled everyone.

“Sorry,” Cassandra muttered and grumbled as she made her way farther in and muttered a thank you when Wyn clandestinely offered her a potion from her pouch.

Shelves once stuffed with trinkets from all across Thedas were now filled with cobwebs and dust, and some of them pushed to the corners or otherwise removed to make way for beaten down furniture so that Mace could turn this once bustling shop into her home.

“Mace, what happened?” Wyn asked as they reached a collection of crates and one sooty, overstuffed chair sitting in front of a meager fireplace.

Mace gestured to the crates. “As you can see, I don’t get many guests anymore. Sit wherever you can find.” She lifted her weary eyes to Wyn and shrugged. “Life happened, Lora. I heard you were coming, but to be honest, I was really hoping my doorstep wouldn’t be somewhere the Inquisition would come to pay their respects.” She looked rueful and sat in the overstuffed chair.

Wyn sat on a crate next to her. She knew her old friend better than that, and while she was well practiced in the art of the Orlesian game, her expression was enough to tip her hand. There was more to the story than she let on, and allowing Wyn and her party to see it was on purpose. She was also palpably upset, and she had every reason to be.

“I didn’t realize it had gotten this bad.”

Mace snorted and glanced at Lady Cassandra and the rest of Wyn’s companions. “Deshanna knew. That’s why she sent you to the Conclave.” Her tone was calculated and there was underlying venom. She was feeling Wyn out as well as Cassandra, in particular. “Halamshiral was merely the start of it all, not the end. After the fighting broke out between the mages and Templars, the first people the Chantry came for was us. Of course, this,” Mace gestured to the dusty shop, “didn’t happen overnight. It started with seizing contraband for, ‘the good of Thedas’ as it was phrased. Suddenly my store was an enemy of the Maker.”

She turned an accusatory eye to Cassandra. “Your precious Divine didn’t want the occasional bottle of Carnal & Blessed to fall into the wrong hands, or bolts of royal sea silk to suddenly start subverting the masses. So, I cut back what I could offer, hid rare stocks coming from the Free Marches or dispatched it to other friends of Lavellan, started scrutinized who bought from me more.

“It still wasn’t enough. Templars and Guardsmen in here every week eventually scared off even my more devoted customers.” Mace let out a long puff of air and ran a half-gloved hand through her short, dark curls. “Then my contacts either up and vanished or wouldn’t trade with me anymore, and that was it.”

“I had no idea…” Cassandra’s voice trailed off.

“You were the right hand of Justinia. How could you not know?”

Cassandra was quiet and looked at the floor.

“Nobody ever knows.” Mace’s voice dripped with disdainful sarcasm and she turned to Wyn. “And now you’re here. Either in their clutches or you’re one of them.”

“I visited you during those times. You never mentioned anything to me.”

“I was new to Orlais, remember? The Game is something I had to learn the hard way.”

Cassandra looked sickened and she shifted uncomfortably on her crate. “The Game isn’t something I am fond of either, and the more I discover my role in its machinations, the more I despise it.”

This comment surprised Mace and she regarded the Seeker for a long moment, deciding whether to be convinced by her admission or not.

“Mace, I didn’t come here to plunge the knife in further, nor am I here as an agent of the Chantry. In fact, what’s left of the Chantry has condemned all of us. Even Seeker Cassandra, here, is a renegade.”

“More like a heretic,” Solas said quietly. “As are we all in their eyes presently.”

All eyes turned to the fair skinned elven man in the corner for a brief moment.

“I come here to ask for help, and it seems offer it as well,” Wyn continued. “We have contacts throughout Thedas. Granted, more Southern than Northern, but it’s a start...and if you don’t mind dealing largely with Ferelden for the time being. We will offer you sponsorship. I highly doubt that anyone with any sense in Orlais would be careless enough to risk confrontation with the Inquisition. Especially with the growing trouble.”

“You assume much,” Mace said dryly.

“It’s the truth. Anyone who touches you would have me and Lady Cassandra to contend with.”

“Not to mention Sister Leliana and Ambassador Josephine Montilyet,” Cassandra added.

Mace’s brows went up. 

“What we need right now are any sorts of supplies you can muster, and I am sure the people of Orlais would be grateful for anything we could offer. In fact, I have a list.” Wyn reached into her pocket and procured the list that Threnn had sent with her letter. Untying it, she handed the list to Mace who looked it over.

“This stuff doesn’t grow on trees.”

Wyn rolled her eyes. “Funny since the woman who handed me that said something like that. You will also be dealing with her mostly.”

Mace folded the list and pocketed it. She regarded Wyn a long moment. “I would be stupid to agree. All of you have Death Sentence written all of over you, but...not as stupid as sitting here in the dark and starving to death. You have a deal, Lora.”


	13. Chapter 13

Wanting some time alone with her friend, Wyn had sent the others farther into town to search for a place for the night. Cassandra protested the most leaving her charge to fend for herself in the streets of Val Royeaux, but Wyn assured the Seeker that she was more than capable of handling herself...as did Mace Lavellan.

Dusk had grown into night and the fire into a warm, roaring blaze. Wyn had gone back into the neighborhood just beyond and with the last bit of coin in her purse, purchased the finest bottles of Antivan Honey Wine she could find and a hearty meal from one of the food vendors.

“You know, this is probably street rat,” Mace joked as she gnawed on a leg bone.

“Good rat,” Wyn joked.

Mace laughed and sat back in her chair. “Tell me something, Lora. Do you believe all of this rubbish? You know...how you are supposed to be the Herald of Andraste?” There was a seriousness behind Mace’s flippant words.

Wyn never knew her to be a believer in anything. Something that Wyn understood much to Deshanna’s dismay.

Mace had always dismissed her ambivalence with the sarcastic humor she was best known for, but Wyn knew better than anyone that she felt as though she betrayed the one that she wore on her face: Mythal. The Mother.

“I don’t know what to believe,” Wyn said to the firelight. It was the truth.

Mace pulled on her bottle and made a face. “Chantry teaches that believing in something, even if it’s wrong is better than believing in nothing.”

Wyn nodded. “I remember Deshanna telling me the same thing.” She took a drink from her own bottle, the warmth of the sweet liquor coating her throat and leaving her mind as much of a burn as her stomach. “Since the massacre at the Conclave, so much has happened. I haven’t had a chance to digest any of it. All around me are people who bow to me. Chantry Mothers, Sisters, a Seeker, and even the Quartermaster whose list I gave you. She bids me farewell with a blessing from the Maker, thumps her chest in salute, and calls me ‘M’Lady’ and I don’t know how to react.”

“It’s a cruel irony. What’s a blessing for them is a curse for you. You better have an exit strategy, because if it can be proven, everything that’s happened to me will pale in comparison with what they’ll do to you. And I don’t mean just break some glass trinkets. You’re an elf and a mage, and that’s worse than anything I could ever be.” Mace drank.

Thoughts returned to Threnn as they had for the entire journey. The flames, licking the old stones of the fireplace reminded Wyn again of how the Quartermaster looked the last time she saw. She believed, too, didn’t she? Always sent her on with the Maker’s blessing when she was leaving, wore the mark of the Chantry proudly, sang the Chant like a good woman should.

She wondered if what Mace said would be true with Threnn; if it were to be proven, would Threnn revoke her kindness? Would that look in her eye vanish? Did it matter?

“You look worried,” Mace ventured.

Grateful for the distraction from her wandering mind, Wyn looked to her friend and tugged on her bottle. “Sorry. You words give me lot to think about.”

“Uh huh,” Mace’s tone was even but she was studying as she always did. “Tell me Lora, that paper you handed to me. There were two. What was on the second one? And does your Quartermaster always send you messages tied with the silk ribbon belonging to the second highest decoration for valor awarded in Ferelden? Will she afford me the same courtesy?”

Wyn looked dumbfounded at Mace as she decided whether or not to play dumb or react with the bit of jealousy at the suggestion that she suddenly felt at the idea of Threnn presenting _her_ with special letters.

“Lora?” The smile widened to a grin and Mace gestured for Wyn to drink.

Wyn’s cheeks warmed as she obliged, drinking from the bottle once more. To loosen her tongue.

“What’s her name?”

“Threnn,” Wyn admitted.

“No, I mean...what’s her name,” Mace repeated and made a lewd gesture at her chest.

“It’s not like that,” Wyn said, looking away in embarrassment. “She’s from Ferelden. Formerly one of Loghain’s men. My type.” She let out an exasperated sigh and gestured to indicate Threnn’s height and the girth of her arm muscles.

“Maker’s breath, Lora. You and your humans and you had to go pick the most human-y one you could find. Please tell me she isn’t exactly like him, if you know what I mean.”

Wyn thought for a moment and stared at the nearly empty bottle of honey wine in her hand. “I don’t know. She was sensible enough to apologize, and I don’t feel like I can't trust her if that means anything. Her sincerity when she last spoke to me, and the look about her--I really don't think there's a dishonest bone in her body. For a human, you know how rare that is...” she let her voice trail off. “I want to like her. I haven’t been interested in a human until now. She’s different,” Wyn replied defensively.

Mace drank and rolled the liquid around her mouth before she swallowed. “Please. I remember when that tall, broad-shouldered thing from Kirkwall would come by. Stood there with your mouth gaping like an idiot while frogs fell from the sky.”

Wyn’s cheeks colored with embarrassment again and she drank more, feeling the room start to melt away into the fire. “Of course you would remind me of that.”

“Your finest performance. Don’t tell me you hit this one in the head with a downpour of amphibians.”

“No.” Wyn gave her a look and she leaned back on the crate she sat on. “But...she is distracting. More so than the woman from Kirkwall. Red hair like her, but I don’t know. When she invited me to dinner, it felt as though I’d always been having dinner with her.”

“And she sends you Ah’na Lethallin wrapped in war medals.” Mace chuckled and let out a sigh. “I suppose I’ll meet her soon enough.”

Long silence followed with the two of them staring at a dying fire. Mace look lost in her own thoughts while Wyn thought of the mission that lay ahead, and the Quartermaster waiting for her to come back.


	14. Chapter 14

Word was that Wyn Lavellan had made it to Val Royeaux safely and then was on to the Ghislain Estate. At least that was what the newest letter from Wyn said. She’d encountered difficulty with the Templars which resulted in an incident in the Val Royeaux market place involving bodily harm coming to a Chantry Mother, and Lord Seeker Lucius stomping off with the entire contingent of Templars from the White Spire.

Wyn had expressed frustration, and the murmurs around the camp and elsewhere in Southern Thedas was that she was, somehow, to blame. They were also blaming Seeker Cassandra.

Of course, that meant that Ambassador Montilyet and Threnn were both putting out fires. Josephine with political contacts, and Threnn with her merchant contacts who were now threatening to pull their support of the Inquisition.

All of this made Threnn more than cross and conjured up feelings of helplessness at being able to defend the honor of the woman who occupied her every thought. There was some fortune to come from all the trouble and that was the Herald had managed to secure a contract with a merchant friend of hers in Val Royeaux named Lady Suie.

Threnn had rarely traded with Val Royeaux in the past and it was with Leliana’s help that she drafted a suitable correspondence with a friend seemingly of noble heritage. The stench of Orlesian perfumes and bath oils had already begun to waft through the town, even though no Orlesian nobles were present in Haven apart from Lady Josephine, and that perfume wasn't among the first items to arrive. The merchants were and yet were not anything Threnn expected. Some wore filly Orlesian attire, and some the maddening masks which made it difficult to tell who was who, and some dressed as she imagined an Orlesian peasant to look. Most were human, but there were a few elves. None made more than polite conversation as anyone would when conducting business.

New business was good business, she reminded herself, and she did her best to be mindful of Leliana’s tips to be polite and never mention Loghain or Ferelden when dealing with the Orlesians. And no swearing. That was a hard one, Threnn grumbled as she dropped another Sovereign into the jar that Josephine had set up for her. It hadn’t been an hour since Wyn’s message was delivered, and Threnn was already personally buying three cots for the soldier’s barracks.

Inconvenience aside, it was important to note that Threnn had received the message and not Leliana or Josephine, and that it had been carried by one of Leliana’s messenger birds. It had been encased in the same Silverite vial as before, papers wrapped with the ribbon Threnn included originally, and there had been the contract with Lady Suie as well as handwritten correspondence for the eyes of her advisers, and then another meant for Threnn alone.

There would be time to read it after everything died down, Threnn reminded herself and hastily scribbled returning correspondence: Contract details, another list, and something for Wyn hastily scribbled at the bottom. Minaeve was nowhere to be found, so as is would have to suffice, and it would have to be sufficiently sweet and coded so that any eavesdroppers wouldn’t know the true nature of the text.

“Can you help me with something?”

“Bloody hell!” Startled, Threnn lost control of her pen, juggling it as it left giant blots of ink on the page and her uniform before letting it fall to its eventual fate on the ground. She knew that voice anywhere and it was everything she could do to not shout Wyn’s name in excitement.

The Herald giggled. “Sorry. I couldn’t help it.”

“You’re back,” Threnn managed and did her best to try and wipe the ink off her sleeve.

“I made you a mess didn’t I?” Wyn looked guilty a moment, but not that guilty. She came around the side of the table and did as best she could to help Threnn.

Threnn couldn’t tell if it were the cold or not, but Wyn's cheeks were a bright rosy color in this light and she did her best to avoid looking Threnn directly in the eye. She loved the way this felt and dreaded the moment when Wyn would no longer be touching her. “I could color on my other sleeve.” Threnn couldn’t help the flirt.

Wyn made a coy face. “I’ll have someone come by and get you a fresh uniform. On me since it was my fault.”

“I don’t mind,” Threnn blurted out. Wyn was more beautiful than in her fantasies and those lavender eyes sparkled with a mischievousness that let Threnn know that she’d been thinking about her as well. “I was just responding to your letter.”

“Don’t let me keep you,” Wyn replied and backed away from her. She smelled lovely. The same embrium, but there was a new sweetness that Threnn hadn’t known before. Perhaps soap from the Ghislain Estate or one of the other Orlesian chateaus she’d been to. But it was elegant and not invasive. 

“I wanted to come by and see you before the madness really begins,” Wyn said gesturing to the Chantry doors. “I’m afraid my journey doesn’t end yet. But...I was hoping you might have time for me.”

“I’ll wait,” Threnn replied.

Wyn laughed a laugh that colored the grounds with heavenly song. “You have duty early tomorrow, so don’t wait too long. Far be it for me to go against Commander Cullen. Think about what you want to eat and where.”

“Herald!” Cassandra’s voice cut across the yard and the two looked over to see the Seeker with Cullen and beckoning her inside.

“Mom calls,” Wyn joked and backed toward the Chantry entrance. “I’ll see you later.”

“Certainly,” Threnn replied and waved as she watched the Herald back away from her table, moving dangerously close to the rock wall that separated the courtyard from the narrow road in front of the Chantry. “Heral--”

Before Threnn could call out to her, Wyn turned and caught her foot on part of the wall and tumbled over.

Gasps were heard echoing across the town.

“Maker!” Threnn exclaimed and rushed to Wyn’s side. She and Cassandra arrived at the same time and looked to the Seeker quizzically at Wyn’s peals of laughter.

The latter accepted Threnn’s hand and Cassandra’s as she rose back to her feet.

“No one saw that right?” Wyn asked, looking around at her amused onlookers. Murmurs rose into the air like the hum of dragonflies.

Cassandra lifted a wry eyebrow to Threnn and deferred to the Quartermaster to be the one to dust Wyn off and help her get the twigs out of her hair.

“No, nobody,” Threnn joked. While she made sure the Herald of Andraste was now back to presentable, she inspected her for injury. None found, thank the Maker. “Are you all right?” She still asked.

Wyn nodded. “Just a bruised ego.”

“How many of me do you see?” Threnn asked.

“Just the important one,” Wyn replied with a rosy smile and squeezed Threnn’s hand.

“Herald, if you’re not dying, we have urgent matters to discuss,” Cassandra said from the Chantry doors.

Threnn squeezed Wyn’s hand in return and urged her inside. Finally taking a moment to glance around, she caught the eyes of several Chantry Sisters, soldiers, servants, and Hess staring at her with a mixture of curiosity, approval, and spinning theories. “Show’s over! Back to work, the lot of you!” Threnn barked with her usual salt.

Everyone scattered like a bunch of hens and chatter returned to normal.

Hess had taken over for Threnn for a moment and merely shook his head at her in amusement as she wandered back to her post to finish out what had turned into a brighter day.


	15. Chapter 15

“Bloody, bollocks, hell!” Threnn grumbled at her reflection in the mirror as she tugged at the stiff leather collar of Ferelden Army leathers that had once belonged to her and that she remembered being able to fit into not long ago.

True to her word, Wyn Lavellan sent someone to replace Threnn’s uniform, and when she retired from duties for the evening, came back to find it lying on her cot waiting for her. Wyn was still in the Chantry, and despite her efforts, there was no amount of coin, elfroot, spider guts, or bottles of Carnal & Blessed that would be enough to bribe either Giselle or Minaeve into divulging what had kept the Herald so long.

She had managed to glean from the others that there were two more people now helping Wyn, Madame Vivienne de Fer, the First Enchanter of the Orlesian Imperial Court, and a woman Threnn knew by reputation to be the magical right hand of Empress Celene, and a young elven rebel named Sera that had solicited Wyn in Val Royeaux.

Sera had already made herself comfortable among Threnn’s wares when Threnn wasn’t looking, and Madame de Fer was Orlesian nobility. That was all Threnn needed to know about her. However, none of these things mattered this evening. What mattered was that her old trusty Ferelden Army leathers curiously didn’t seem to fit her anymore.

“Lookit you,” Corporal Kare said with a sideways skew to her lips as she walked in from the cold. Her accent was comically Lothering as was the amusement she leveled at Threnn. “You trying to squeeze into an old uniform could only mean one thing: Hot date?...Perhaps with a Lady Herald of Andraste?”

Threnn clamped down on the urge to let her embarrassment show through her face and just flashed Kare a glare.

Kare had dark hair similar to Lady Cassandra and the woman Threnn remembered as the Champion of Kirkwall, though she was prettier than the latter. She shook out her dark locks and sat on the end of her cot. The maddening smirk on her face dissipated into a seriousness that made Threnn pause. Threnn knew the Corporal long enough to know when to pay attention to her.

“You know I’m not one for gossip, Threnn, but I wouldn’t be much of a friend if I didn’t tell you that the fact that she is obviously sweet on you hasn’t been ignored by anyone...nor the fact that you spent the night in the Chantry with her.”

Threnn fumbled with a clasp on her tunic and let out a puff in frustration. “That was my idea. She deserved better consideration than what I’d shown her...only proper!” She looked to her friend and gave her a look as if to request that she somehow simultaneously drop the subject and make other stop talking about it.

Kare rose and helped Threnn with the clasps to her uniform. “If your face doesn’t turn red when she looks your way, you get this little upturn on that frown of yours that I’ve never seen on your face. You stay up late scribbling on your pillow and then carry your messages, not to the standard runners, but to Sister Leliana personally.” She finished fastening Threnn’s uniform. “You should let Harritt take a look at that for you. You’ve grown in new places that this uniform has never seen.”

“Probably all the rations from Orlais,” Threnn said dryly.

“Hmm...maybe more exercise is in order,” Kare said, her pale green eyes as cryptic as her words as she implied more nefarious activities with the Herald.

Threnn paused as she thought about the idea of having Wyn close again, hair in her nose, those eyes soft as they had been around her. It was a pleasant thought, but at the same time frightening that it made her stomach turn to knots. “That’s no way to talk about Her Worship,” Threnn said defensively and moved out of Kare's grasp. Her statement was as much a warning to Kare as it was a reminder to Threnn about who Wyn was.

Regardless of the time spent with her, Wynaelora Lavellan was still the Herald of Andraste, and a leader in the Inquisition, not some soldier or barmaid. “What am I doing?” She asked and glanced at her reflection in a nearby window.

A knock at the door to the hut prevented Kare from responding.

Kare rose and opened it. “Your Worship,” she said with surprise and saluted.

Threnn rose off the bed and did her best to fix her uniform as Wyn entered, snow blowing in from behind her.

“Sorry, I can give you more time if you need it,” Wyn apologized and turned to leave.

“No, M’Lady.” Threnn advanced and caught Wyn by the arm to stop her. “It’s cold out there and I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” Her heart pounded and she looked into Wyn’s eyes for a moment.

Wyn looked nervous and there was color on her cheeks that wasn’t apart of the gorgeous makeup that she’d chosen for her face. She wore a simple silk dress with an exquisite Ring Velvet overcoat. Her blonde hair, normally tied in a braid behind her head was loose and hung around her shoulder and silverite earrings dangled from her earlobes and were a perfect complement for her ensemble.

“You look...for too beautiful for the likes of me,” Threnn stumbled.

Wyn smiled bashfully and tugged on Threnn’s uniform tunic. “Nonsense.” She slipped her arm around Threnn’s and led her into the snow. Where you’re taking me?”

“I have,” Threnn replied and paused on her way out to grab her hat.


	16. Chapter 16

“This is a mage’s cowl,” Wyn pointed out and took the hat off of Threnn’s head to examine it.

Snow fell peacefully on Haven, including the short red hair of the Quartermaster.

“Indeed. It was a gift from Her Majesty,” Threnn said.

Wyn smiled and brushed her hand across the enchanted stone on its front. It was a beautiful emerald and the whispers behind it were old, dwarven, and powerful, but nothing to be concerned about. It was a cap designed to keep the Quartermaster safe no matter where she was. Truly something valued. She placed it back on Threnn’s head and allowed herself to remain close a moment.

Threnn looked uncomfortable in the uniform. Not only was it too tight, but there was something bothering her behind her eyes. Dread seeped into Wyn’s footsteps as she took Threnn’s arm again and allowed herself to be led through Haven to pick up a basket from Flissa.

Along the way, townspeople and guards alike lifted the heads to look on in a mixture of faces at the two of them. Some were curious, some amused, and some humans looked to Threnn with betrayal and some elves looked to Wyn with disappointment.

Doubt had become a steady companion to the point where Wyn saw outside herself and the two of them walking together. What was she doing? Instead of saying anything, she prattled on with small talk, to which Threnn responded to cordially, though that look in Threnn’s eyes remained. As if she questioned the same thing.

It took a moment for Wyn to realize that she’d passed through the gates leading away from the town. “Threnn, I haven’t shoes for the woods,” Wyn protested.

“We’re not going to the woods,” Threnn replied.

Fighting off the cold, she clung to the Quartermaster and nodded politely at the gate guard as they muttered a polite salute and then turned to each other to smile at the sight of the couple.

Down the path they went toward the massive trebuchet rising high into the air and covered with snow. They were Cullen’s pride and joy and aside from flinging bodies at potential enemies, the only real defense that Haven had.

Wyn gazed up at her date, blinking through falling flakes. Snow covered the fur on Threnn’s cap and shoulders, her distinguished profile and broken nose looking touched with hope in this wintry weather. There was something so familiar about this, about her. Like Wyn had always walked through the snow on the arm of this soldier.

Threnn stopped and return her gaze. Thankfully, she didn’t seem offended, but she did question. Threnn was nervous, but meeting Wyn’s gaze seemed to soften a little as though she were feeling the same sense of comfort that Wyn had been feeling a moment ago.

Strange how something like this could happen. Wyn had never seen Threnn before in her life, nor could she remotely fathom being out here in the falling snow with anyone the likes of her. Then again, the last place she could have ever pictured being was the middle of the Frostbacks with a glowing hand and demons raging all around and being called the ‘Herald of Andraste.’

“It seems silly,” Wyn said absently. She touched Threnn’s face, admiring how her skin dimpled under her fingers.

Threnn didn’t move, but her eyes flickered as if she were torn between rejecting her and wanting to grab her and kiss her. “What are we doing?” She asked and took Wyn’s hand in hers. “What am I doing?” She backed away a little and rubbed the back of her head with her hand.

Wyn’s heart thudded hard in her chest as panic set in. “Threnn...” she started but her words died on the end of her tongue.

Threnn backed away farther. “I’m supposed to serve you...” she stopped and looked lost.

“I’m not trying to...” Wyn clasped her hands nervously.

“I don’t think that,” Threnn replied. She turned.

“Please don’t. I want to be near you,” Wyn blurted out. “With you...tonight,” She tried to correct.

Threnn froze and looked so horribly torn. A hundred things flashed in front of those emerald eyes that Wyn knew she wanted to say, but none of it came out. She only gestured to continue walking.

They were nearing the trebuchet battery. Wyn’s freezing feet half wondered how much farther they were going and was relieved when Threnn made a turn toward the guard hut not far from the collection of soldiers manning the watch for tonight.

“Good evening, Your Worship,” greeted the burly looking enlisted man wearing a snow-covered corporal’s rank. “Quartermaster,” he nodded to Threnn, fighting back a smile.

“Good evening, Corporal,” Wyn greeted in return and saluted by thumping her chest. Without her usual curass on, the salute was far more painful than Wyn remembered and she winced turning back to Threnn. “Remind me to have Cullen change that.”

Threnn laughed quietly. She’d stopped just behind the hut and had cleared off a door that Wyn recalled went to the well that fed the battery and this end of Haven. She’d opened it and beckoned for Wyn’s hand.

“We’re having a picnic in a well? I’m really not dressed for this, Quartermaster.”

“It’s not what you think it is,” Threnn said.

“I get this feeling, I’m trusting you with far too much,” Wyn said dryly and accepted Threnn’s hand.

Down a ladder they went into the depths below the snow-covered Earth of Haven. A few flakes dared to follow but didn’t make it past the opening. The bottom was dry and Wyn looked around, awestruck, by the cavern the two of them now stood in.

“Before the Conclave, Cullen had me pulling double duty down at this battery. Haven is old ground, filled with all sorts of stories. Before us Fereldans, there were elves, dwarves, even chasind. The city you know as Haven was built above this one.”

Feeling the scholarly parts of her mind being tickled, Wyn ventured past the ladder and to what had once been an ornate stone wall. It was mostly covered in dust, broken, but a flick of her fingers showed there to be writing of a script that Wyn wasn’t entirely able to translate.

From somewhere behind her, Threnn lit a torch allowing for better light and lit other torches that were on the wall. Now under the light, the tunnel wasn’t as worn as Wyn imagined it to be and, in fact, apart from the box of kindling with modern Ferelden script on it, it seemed to be used regularly.

Wyn could make out other ornate stones that had once been dyed in beautiful colors not ordinarily associated with the sturdy, brutish architecture known to Ferelden. It was circular, with a high, domed ceiling which carried sound well, adding to the mystery that Threnn had shared with her.

“Maybe a temple of some sort?” Wyn asked, turning to Threnn.

Threnn nodded. “That’s one theory I have, yes. Or maybe a theater of some kind. Unfortunately, the people who could answer the question died at the Conclave.”

Together, the two of them built a fire close to the stairwell and arranged a few empty crates to sit on. The aborted conversation from earlier still lingered between them and was kept flame by occasional glances.

Between the romance of the firelight and the privacy of this cave, Threnn was making a very good case for herself getting kissed. What was left to be said of the earlier conversation hadn’t been forgotten by either of them, but the moment didn’t seem right to continue.

Wyn sat. “What are those?” She asked as Threnn reached into her basket and produced some gray looking sausages and skewered them and stuck them over the fire to roast.

“Denerim Spears. A guilty pleasure. I made some extra coin while you were away and thought I’d give you another treat the next time we got together—if you wanted to get together,” Threnn corrected. Fire danced against her chiseled features. Suddenly, Wyn felt too far away from her and she moved her crate closer.

Threnn pulled the meat from the fire and handed one to Wyn. “Where I’m from, we share these with people who are special to us. Usually on holidays like Feastday or Harvest Day, but they’re suitable for any occasion.”

“Like a quiet dinner in a hole in the ground,” Wyn replied.

Threnn laughed, the songbird sound of her voice echoing across the cavern. “Exactly.” What seemed like a long moment passed between them.

In a quiet voice, Wyn whispered a prayer over her food to Andruil, blessing her for the life of the animal felled to make the meal and the steady hand who felled it. Gift of life and breath from the Mother to us.

Threnn was silent, choosing not to utter a prayer of her own and bit into her food.

Surprisingly, it was more than enough food and more delicious than Wyn had anticipated. She’d sampled a variety of similar foods during her travels, Orlesians favoring sweet meats, Antivans and Rivaini spicy, Nevarrans rich, and Ostwickians...fishy. This was simple in its spices, the meat providing most of the flavor. She was done before she had time to fully think about it and accepted a handkerchief from the Quartermaster to wipe her hands and mouth.

“Don’t get up yet. We’re not done,” Threnn said. Reaching into the basket, she produced a pair of cakes that Wyn did recognize. “Antivan chocolate.”

“Your recipe?” Wyn asked, raising a brow.

“No.” Threnn’s face fell and she looked sad a moment.

Wyn paused with her dessert and frowned with concern. “Hey...”

Threnn shook her head and nibbled. “Long before you, there was a woman named Lucienne. She was a Lieutenant in my company.”

“You loved her,” Wyn replied.

Threnn nodded. “One of a kind. We knew it was foolish to pursue anything during a Blight, but the heart is a fickle enemy and doesn’t always choose the best time or the best battlefield. Nor do Darkspawn...”

“I’m sorry,” Wyn replied somberly.

Threnn straightened. “Apologies, Your Worship, this isn’t how I wanted to start this conversation.” 

“About us...” Wyn’s voice trailed off as dread stole the rest of her words once more.

Threnn rose off her crate and adjusted her uniform. She still looked handsome. “Not long ago, I wanted you dead, and now we’re told that Andraste saved you from death, that you are Her Herald. What could a Herald of Andraste see in me? There are certainly better looking women in camp, I have nothing to my name apart from what’s in my tent and on my back.” She paced to just beyond the fire.

Wyn rose and followed Threnn. “I will admit to the ‘Herald of Andraste’ thing being difficult for me to swallow. Not long ago I was just a simple Dalish mage on a quest for her Clan. I was there to collect knowledge and intelligence to send back to my Keeper. The mage/Templar war was spilling into our territory and making life difficult. The god that I wear on my face is one I believe in. I worshiped her all my life, and now I’m a religious figure in a faith not only different, but has been made a rival to mine. Whether or not you believe, I certainly don’t feel it; I’m just a woman, Threnn.

“As for what I see. You amaze me. I watch you, I hear people talk around the camp about you and you’re relentless, fierce, and your loyalty is something to be admired. But there’s something intangible when you’re with me. And I find you highly attractive. Especially if you stand over there in that light.” Wyn gestured to a spot where the firelight cast a warm glow across the stones of the chasm.

Threnn moved over and her face changed into a smile.

“Like that,” Wyn said wryly.

From somewhere just above the door the faint sound of a lyre began to play. It was a graceful melody that Wyn couldn’t place. As the song progressed the volume picked up and she could hear the soldiers on the trebuchet battery begin to sing.

Threnn approached Wyn and took her hand. She didn’t look apologetic but there was a look of understanding, of connection that made Wyn smile. Her hand felt good, her body warm and familiar and Wyn moved into her embrace without being asked.

Wyn chuckled as Threnn began to sway to the tune. “I’m not very good at this ei--” she was interrupted as her heel stepped on Threnn's boot. “Sorry.”

“Follow me,” Threnn said with what looked to be the beginnings of a smile. She moved slowly and counted off the steps for Wyn to follow along, her hand at her waist and something that Wyn wanted desperately more of.

The tune continued and as Wyn got more comfortable dancing with her Quartermaster, Threnn began to sing. From the lyrics unearthed by her companion, Wyn learned that the song was a Fereldan bar ditty, and a dirty one at that, called I Left My Heart In Lothering.

Lothering was one of the cities destroyed by the Blight, Wyn recalled, and some place that quite a few of her soldiers hailed from.

Pain was gone from Threnn’s face, but it was still present in her heart. The song would mean something more to her and, in that, it meant more to Wyn. The Herald allowed herself to move closer, the cavern fading away as though it were a grand theater and the spotlight shone just on the two of them.

Wyn felt like a princess in the arms of her handsome soldier, and she allowed a smile from the cracks of her soul to be witnessed by Threnn. She was spun and dipped until laughter returned, eyes brimming with something more frightening than any demon could hurl at either of them.

The song concluded and Wyn remained a moment, staring at Threnn, eyes tracing her lips as Threnn traced hers. She didn’t want this to end, to part and feel the bitter cold separating her from the woman she was falling in love with.

“We shouldn’t...” Threnn breathed and let go of Wyn.

Wyn let out a sigh and tried to think of something other than the same coldness she feared. She couldn’t. “Threnn...” Wyn’s voice faded. She reached out and grabbed the Quartermaster by the arm and pulled her into a kiss.

Her hand was on her face, her lips sweet, and she melted like a candle in fire. Thedas melted along with her, as did the Fade, replaced by something far more raw and visceral. Wyn felt exposed and empowered. Her mouth opened and she searched for answers within Threnn and found the answers she needed, as though a puzzle piece to the universe had been found.

For a moment the only sounds in the cavern were the crackling fire, beating of her own heart, and the breath from Threnn’s lungs. Threnn pressed her forehead against Wyn and played with the ends of her fingers.

Wyn was getting cold again, but none of that mattered. Here, with Threnn, she felt invincible.

“I’m going to have to buy more of those,” Threnn joked, her voice humid with passionate air.

Wyn chuckled softly.

“What do we do next?” Threnn asked. She lifted those gem like irises to Wyn and laced her fingers between hers.

Wyn thought for a moment, meeting Threnn’s gaze. Throwing her down here in the middle of this room wouldn’t be a bad idea, but in kissing her, Wyn felt far more fragile than she imagined she’d ever be. Threnn wasn’t an ordinary woman, she wasn’t some brothel harlot or a fun thing wandering into camp.

“I’m not ready for anything more than what we’ve already done tonight, if that’s what you mean,” Wyn replied finally, steeling herself for the look of disappointment on Threnn’s face.

There wasn’t one.

“I do want it but...” Wyn broke from Threnn and let out a long sigh, thinking again about what Cassandra and Mace told her. “The merchant you will be dealing with in Val Royeaux isn’t just a friend of mine, she’s a former lover. Probably the only one in Thedas other than you who knows me well enough to trust me. I’m not a nice person, Threnn, and I’m not going to make it easy for you. I'm more emotional than I let on, but half the time I'm more confused and scared than anything. And I definitely don't know what I am doing when it comes to you. But I do know I want this, I want you in a way I don't quite understand.

“The rest of Thedas will not be kind either. Out there, I’m still a heathen to most of the world, and to my own family, they will reject me the moment they discover any of this. There will be rumors, and you will hear them coming from not just the townspeople up there,” Wyn pointed at the hole in the ceiling, “but all the way from places like the Orlesian Court. I’d like to say that I’m a pro at discretion, but let’s face it: They’re already talking out there, which means it will eventually wind up being common knowledge for people like Celene and Anora. Both of us will need to be ready for that.

“They will say things. About you, about me, and you can’t always defend me or protect me. The people who want to ruin me won’t just use blades.”

“I know, Your Worship,” Threnn said. The fire had gone low enough that her her face was concealed in shadows.

“What’s worse than that is that for the first time in my life I’m serious about someone I like. And it scares me. I want to do this the right way, Threnn.”

Threnn was silent a moment and shifted her weight. “I want to love you.”

Wyn couldn’t help a smile. “I think it’s too late for that.”

“You think I don’t?” Threnn shot defensively, moving into the light. She looked more beautiful than ever, radiant.

Wyn touched Threnn’s nicked up face. “I mean I think we both do. It’s just a question of making it work. We're going to have to be stubborn.”

Threnn laughed and pulled Wyn close, nuzzling the side of her face. “I think you’ve come to the right woman for that.”


	17. Chapter 17

Heading back felt like it took a disappointingly short amount of time. The memory of the kiss lighting a fresh smile upon her face, Threnn held the Herald close as they made their way from the trebuchet battery and through the gates back into the city.

Kare was on patrol through the insular parts of Haven and couldn’t help an amused smile as she caught sight of the two of them arm in arm. Other soldiers seemed to notice as well and some moved away from them, but no one dared say anything.

Wyn made idle conversation, talking about weather in the Free Marches, life in her Clan, what was on for the morrow.

“If the weather lifts, then we’re back to it. The Storm Coast and possibly another run to Val Royeaux,” the Herald murmured and turned her face into Threnn’s arm to bury her nose in her uniform as if to comfort herself.

Threnn felt her cheeks warm at such appreciation and for the first time in her life, regretted that she couldn’t press herself any closer to the woman whose affections lit her heart. Worry still tugged at her heart over what was to come.

She glanced out of the corner of her eye at the swirl in the sky. It loomed, like a monster coiled as it observed its prey. Lady Wynaelora hadn’t mentioned any discomfort over her mark, but it made itself known through a faint, ever-present greenish glow on her hand.

“What’s it like?” Threnn asked. “Being close to those things? Being out there?”

Wyn shrugged. Snow had begun to fall again and touched her head in faint, fluttery kisses. She didn’t seem bothered. “It’s unlike anything I’ve encountered before, so I’m not sure how to compare. When you get near a Fade Rift, there’s a song. Not quite a hum but something. It grows louder as I get close and then I can’t tell if it’s noise or quiet, but everything becomes this cacophony of color and sensation. Fighting is more out of desperation than it is anything calculated and then when it’s all over, it’s as though nothing happened.”

“Sounds confusing.”

Wyn nodded slowly. “It is. Disturbing, but at the same time...not. One of the first things we learn when we are taught how to control our magic is that magic is a gift from the gods, like everything else in nature. Nature, by itself, is chaos, but within chaos is a surprising amount of order, and that chaos without mastery becomes uncontrollable. Being intimidated by it is to give magic control over the wielder and not the opposite.”

“And that’s when chaos ensues.”

Wyn nodded and tugged on Threnn’s arm to keep moving. “More or less. Even non-magic wielders would do well to learn such a lesson I think.”

“The Chantry teaches that magic is meant to serve man.” Threnn stopped before the door to Wyn’s cabin.

Wyn nodded. “In theory. In practice, the Chantry, the Circles, confuse respect with fear. Which is part of the reason for the rebellion.” She stopped for a moment and a small smile crested her lips. “Perhaps something we would do well to fix.”

An awkward silence passed between the two of them. More and more, goodbye was becoming a more difficult word to say. So easy it would be to accompany the Herald inside and continue this conversation, talk until it was morning, but both of them had duty: Threnn with shipments arriving and Wyn with a world to save.

“Thank you for accompanying me,” Threnn said. “You better run inside before you get cold.”

Wyn laughed. “I’m already cold.” She placed her hand on the door and stopped. “Thank you for a lovely time. I promise not to be as long as I was before, and I’ll write.”

“I’d like that.” Threnn paused and took in the beauty in the woman before her, not just how she looked against the flickering light of the torches against the door or the snowdrifts on the roof of her cabin, but the way that she created beauty in everything she touched. Andraste had certainly gifted the world with someone special, and here she was blushing and trying to come up with something awkward to say to Threnn.

Looking around to ensure that they were alone, Threnn kissed Wyn’s lips. “Good night, Your Worship,” she said. Lady Lavellan looked thoroughly broken and confused. “I shouldn’t have done that...” Threnn muttered and took her leave before Wyn could say anything.

\- - - - - 

What had she done to deserve such a woman? Kicking her feet through the snow drifts, Threnn relished the bite of the ice through the laces as fitting penance for person she regretted being and made her way to the enlisted barracks.

“Threnn?”

The sound of Wyn’s was muted against the falling snow but carried loud enough that the quartermaster heard only it and nothing else. 

Threnn paused and turned around. “What are you doing still out here?” Threnn asked with concern. 

The rosiness around Wyn’s cheeks and the nervous fidget at her hands gave her away and Threnn felt a rise of nervousness herself. “I...” Wyn’s face melted into a smile so genuine it made Threnn’s heart burst. “Please stay with me,” she blurted out.

Threnn wasn’t sure what to say at first and the thud of her heart in her throat kept words from coming out. She had to think about the request a few times. What would she say? Do? It was late, so probably just sleep. Holding her through the night was an idea too sweet for this rustic yard. Wyn was a woman who deserved to be cherished on satin sheets with a bed made of feathers, and caressed by arms far more polished than hers.

Yet here she was, looking at her in this way, conjuring up memories of how she felt moments ago, sturdy and yet so fragile in her arms. So wonderfully hers. Wyn had chosen and Threnn knew that saying no wasn’t in her heart.

She approached Wyn and took her hand. Snow fell steadily and dusted Wyn’s shoulders. She looked even more radiant than ever and there was a raw vulnerability to her that put a skip into the quartermaster’s step as she was led back to the cabin.

\- - - - -

Wyn’s hands shook as she pulled open the door and led Threnn inside. It wasn’t nervousness, it was excitement. It was standing on a ledge and throwing herself off into this wonderful future.

Threnn understood in a way that she didn’t know how to express except to pull Wyn into a kiss as deep as her answer.

Wyn melted away with the snow on her shoulders and allowed herself to be consumed by this heavenly woman, her world filling with the smell of her leather, her hair, and the faint sweetness that she’d come to adore. She wanted Threnn, needed her, and wrapped her arms around her neck.

Threnn fell against the door, her hands about Wyn’s waist, palms heavy and kneading as she left behind electric rivulets where her fingers touched.

“Threnn...” Wyn gasped and unfastened Threnn's uniform, feeling her body as though she were refamiliarizing herself with someone she'd lost. The Quartermaster was soft in all the right places, hard in others and came apart under her fingers. “Your Worship...” Threnn breathed and pulled away. 

"Wyn."

Wynealora breathed, gazing into her soul. Threnn's eyes were deep with carnal desire, yet had the fear of someone who was worried about overstepping her position. She also looked confused.

“I thought you said...”

Wyn remembered her earlier statement to Threnn about wanting to wait and gave an embarrassed smile. "I lied." She kissed Threnn deeply, allowing herself to feel consumed by the woman she was rapidly falling in love with. Threnn's hands were at Wyn’s dress, pulling it from her body, then her lips on her neck, her breath hot and sticky. A cry of pleasure came deep from within Wyn and she stumbled for toward the bed, pulling Threnn with her. Her heel caught on her dress and she nearly fell had it not for Threnn catching her.

“Stop for a moment,” Threnn suggested.

Wyn nodded dumbly and watched the Quartermaster wriggle herself out of her uniform. Everything about her was more gorgeous than she could imagine. With a wave of her hand, Wyn lit a fire in the hearth at the head of the room, which created an even more romantic ambiance to the evening.

Threnn removed her mail curass and her greaves revealing pale, freckled skin as nicked as her face. Her breasts were small and ornately shaped, topped with strawberry nipples which stood erect more from arousal than the cold air. Her hips were shapely, her stomach muscles thick and well-defined, and her legs deceptively powerful. At her center was a tuft of reddish orange curls. She was more beautiful than what Wyn had pictured and the sight of her made Wyn fall in love all the more.

“I don’t look like much,” Threnn said humbly and flailed her arms.

Wyn blushed and held hand out to Threnn and pulled her into a kiss. "Help me," Wyn breathed. Keeping hold of Threnn's finger, she twisted around so that she had access to the laces of her dress.

Wordlessly, Threnn unlaced her dress and followed the fall of the fabric with her lips

Wyn let out a moan and leaned into Threnn's touch, her thighs soaking as Threnn's hands pushed the dress off her shoulders. "Touch me..." She gasped, lulling her head as Threnn nibbled farther down and her hands somehow simultaneously pushed the fabric from her shoulders and kneaded her stomach, chest, and breasts with wanton desire.

Wyn throbbed at her center, delicate to the touch which she begged the quartermaster for by taking her hand and placing it between her thighs.

Threnn's breath was hot against her neck and her hand pressed exactly where she needed it to, as if she had read her very thought. "Oh..." Wyn whimpered as she felt her legs turn into jelly. The cabin had melted away and was replaced by sparks of ecstasy in bright colors.

Wyn bucked against Threnn's movements. Wyn felt her legs lose cohesion the louder Threnn got in her ears.

Threnn gathered her in her arms and Wyn.

Harder, she requested. Harder, Threnn, harder. Wyn cried out from somewhere beyond Heaven and even the Fade, and shuddered, exploding into the mess she wanted to be, all over Threnn, down her thighs. Wyn collapsed onto the bed and pulled herself onto it as her legs had thoroughly failed her. As good as she felt, she also felt incomplete. More than anything she wanted to feel Threnn everywhere. She slid back on the mattress and lifted a lascivious grin to her lover as well as her hand, which was taken eagerly.

Threnn was beautiful. And even more so when she pushed Wyn onto her back.


	18. Chapter 18

While snow fell on the not-so-sleepy town of Haven, Mace Lavellan found herself to be in the midst of a chilly Orlesian rain, which was precisely where she didn’t want to be. 

The first few caravans back and forth between Val Royeaux and Haven had been a success. Wynaelora had saved Mace a lot of the workload by sending her own people to mind the wagons, and had gotten her in touch with a variety of contacts all across Orlais, Ferelden, even Nevarra.

Business had been shaping up to be profitable. Except for one thing: Highway Men.

How Wynaelora had gotten through all the way from Ferelden without being bothered was something of a mystery, but they’d already caught on and managed to hijack one wagon bearing Madame de Fer’s insignia, and another filled with healing herbs.

Whatever messages Mace had sent along to the Inquisition hadn’t found their way. Or perhaps they had, but fallen into the wrong hands.

“That would explain many things,” Mace muttered to herself as she scanned the horizon from under her hood. The velveteen cloth was completely soaked through and provided more a disguise than it did shelter from the sop.

“I’m sorry, M’Lady, did you say something?” One of the Inquisition guards asked in a rolling Fereldan accent. He was a man named Hess and wore the rank of a Corporal of some sort if she remembered Ferelden ranks correctly. He was a tall, evenly-proportioned fellow, clean shaven until this ride and had a look in his dark eyes like he’d seen a lot more than heavy rain and bandits.

He sat next to her on the second wagon and had the reins of the horses in a meaty hand and another on the hilt of his sword.

Just in that one glance, Mace decided it was better to be honest to him than lie. “Yes, but it’s not important,” she said, keeping her eyes level and blinking through the heavy drops. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the dark clouds lit up as the tempest of Elgar'nan continued.

What did he have to be mad about? She wondered. Just the hole in the sky, she retorted to herself, turning her eyes to the swirling green mass lighting the way to Haven.

Traveling at night was the worst thing that they could be doing, but something within Mace’s belly told her that lingering in this country for an extra day wasn’t the wisest choice. It had been forever and a day since she’d put on armor and picked up a shield, and the cracks in her leather told her as much, but her instincts as a Hunter returned as if they’d never left.

Thankfully, the trees had been pruned back by the scores of Orlesian armies passing along this winding road. Done so to make it harder for the great elven armies of the past to launch their ambushes, and thus also bandits from doing the same, but it also left traveling caravans like this one exposed.

Mace was one of two elves on this caravan, a woman from Lydes named Tressa being the other. The rest of the guards were men and they looked nervous.

Tressa rode in the wagon ahead of them with another Inquisition soldier named Yonne. She was disguised as a dwarven merchant, a cute one at that, and had been advertised as also skilled with a sword and shield. Her accent was different than the others and something Mace remembered hearing in the Free Marches once upon a time.

So many people from so many different walks of life. The Inquisition had more variety than Mace had ever seen, and better yet, unlike Orlais, nobody was forced to conform. She liked to think that was Wynaelora’s influence.

What was she doing with that soldier then? Mace wondered.

One of the horses on the wagon ahead stirred. Yonne struggled with the reins and cooed at her to calm. Mace thought nothing of it until the other horse stirred.

Hess pulled on the reins to their own wagon.

Something wasn’t right.

Before Mace had a chance to react a loud THOCK of an arrow impacting against the wooden seat of the wagon sent her flying underneath the canvas canopy.

“Take cover!” Mace shouted, slipping her shield around her arm as more arrows sliced easily through the fabric, impacting on several barrels and bouncing off freshly minted blades.

From either side, Mace could hear yelling and as she exited the wagon, she was immediately accosted by a burly man with a curled moustache, clad in drenched Orlesian infantry armor with the mark of the Highway Men in plain sight.

“You die tonight, knife ear!” He bellowed, grabbing a handful of her leather armor, but was knocked away by Mace’s shield as she sent the edge against his jaw. His teeth clacked loudly together and blood poured from his mouth. He roared in anger and raised a rusty blade to strike, but was felled by an arrow through his skull.

“We need to get to the trees!” Tressa shouted. She was like a blur as was the man advancing on Mace.

He had a mace, one with spikes, and he lifted it over his head just as Mace lifted her shield to catch the blow. It crunched loudly against the wood and Mace knocked the man off balance enough to sweep with her sword and catch her assailant.

The sound of arrows whistling past her head sent Mace quickly sidestepping, dancing as more hit the mud at her feet.

“Dance rabbit!" Another bandit cried and cackled as thunder crashed overhead. "I don’t think so." He growled and gnashed his teeth like a great beast. He had a thick Fereldan accent and a beard that was as black as the sky. He smelled worse than the last man, almost like rotting flesh, but he looked nothing like Darkspawn or any of the like.

From all around, Mace caught more faces and none of them friendly. Yonne and three of the horses were all on the ground motionless, and Hess had been backed up against one of the wagons with a blade at his neck.

“That’s enough!” Another male voice pierced through the rain like the following thunderclap.

Out of the trees to their right flank, a man wearing a long cloak strode out into plain sight. He wore a broad rimmed hat that rain poured off of and carried no weapon, but Mace knew well enough from the way he walked that he did not come out into the light completely naked.

“You said you wanted them dead.” The Fereldan man kept his eyes and body trained on Mace. He’d come prepared and was feeling her out for weakness like a trained fighter.

“Plans have changed. You will bring them,” the man said.

“What about the wagons?!”

The trenchcoated man moaned in exasperation. “They will still be here in the morning.”

\- - - - - - - 

Tressa de Ledec heard enough, and the men were slowly heading her way. She turned and ran through the trees as fast as she could, legs pounding through mud and standing water, wet needles and leaves slapping against her face. Nugs wakened by the ruckus snorted grumpily and ran from her, sending fear into her heart that somehow the bandits would hear.

Cool yourself, Tressa, she said, remembering wise words once spoken to her and slowed. Her legs burned and she made herself small against the trunk of a tall, mossy tree to catch her breath.

Her heart was almost too loud for her to hear anything more than herself, but she willed her mind to focus on her surroundings. As Grey Wardens could sense the Darkspawn, she could silence the storm and stretch out into the night to sense her enemies.

Nothing.

Just the lightning from the storm as it advanced on the mountains and animals: One who was familiar and close by. He was just as frightened as her.

Peeling herself from her tree, Tressa shrouded herself from the rest of the forest and made her way through the brush to a clearing where she caught sight of her animal friend. It was one of the horses she recognized from the wagon. He was massive as all working horses were and still wore his blinders and bridle. He nickered nervously and backed away as Tressa approached.

“Shh...it’s okay,” Tressa said calmly, keeping her hands out so he could see.

The horse seemed to calm and stayed still as Tressa gathered up his reins. In doing so, she caught sight of a familiar fence post and a misspelled sign that she’d recognized a hundred times on this ride from Chateau Monsette to Lydes with her lady. While it wouldn’t be entirely welcoming, it would be out of the way and afforded a possible back way to Haven.

“Come, my friend,” Tressa said, struggling her way up onto the horse’s back and spurred him in the direction she remembered. “We go that way.”


	19. Chapter 19

Stillness everywhere. The snow had been replaced by a frozen fog which clung to everything like the web of a massive spider. There was not a soul in sight. No guardsmen, no Chantry sisters or Varric. Where was Threnn? Safe. Asleep. Far from here.

Along the ice-capped snowdrifts whispers came on the wind. One, two. Quiet at first. Like snowflakes, and as unique but unintelligible as one would expect snow to be. More came, and more, cascading down from the torrent in the sky until all bit it and the blizzard were the only things Wyn knew. Bitter cold made it impossible to breathe and snow stung her eyes. Wind like the cries of terrors she had never known deafened her.

“Herald!” She heard Threnn call out. She was somewhere beyond. She could see a hand but not her. She sounded desperate, afraid.

Something was coming for her. Wyn reached behind to draw her staff but her hand closed around nothing. She began to run, toward the voice but somehow it felt like the frozen lake at the edge of town. Wyn felt weighed down and slipped on the ice and fell hard, her arm crashing through the ice. It was broken, too, she was broken. Something gripped her arm and she cried out as she was pulled into the abyss.

\- - - - - -

Wyn gasped and half expected to be drowning, but she wasn’t. It took her a few moments to realize that what she was looking at were the rafters of her hut, lit by the milky light through a frozen window, and the weight she felt on her chest was from being smashed under Threnn.

Who was naked.

Glancing down, Wyn caught sight of a freckled shoulder. Memories came back of it oriented more vertically the night before, and a face at the other end as warm and deep as a late summer day. Much happier thought than whatever it was had haunted her in her sleep. Whatever it was. Wyn couldn’t remember apart from a charcoal feeling, and on a morning as wonderful as this one, she didn’t want to think on it more.

Smiling to both herself and the shoulder, Wyn lolled her head to the side and stared into the back of Threnn’s head, and the tufts of red hair she was very much falling in love with. Why, how. All of this was such a bad decision, but one worth indulging in. Being smashed underneath Threnn was exactly where she wanted to be

But, life didn’t work out that way. Sun this bright this time of year meant that both of them had slept too long and the time for enjoying each other was over for now.

“Threnn?” Wyn asked to the head. She kissed the shoulder and moved her gently enough so that she could also kiss the back of her head.

The low warble of Threnn’s rolling accent lighted the air with something grumpy and unintelligible that Wyn couldn’t help but love.

They both smelled terrible but at the same time, Wyn couldn’t help but be intoxicated by the tickle of Threnn’s hair on her nose and gave her another kiss. “Babe?” She asked a little loud, nuzzling the back of her neck and kissing her again.

Wyn closed her eyes and slid her hand across the soft folds of Threnn’s waist and admired the curves of her body, the softness of her skin.

Threnn stirred and Wyn caught what looked like a drowsy smile. “Well, good morning, my love,” Threnn murmured into the pillow.

“Morning,” Wyn replied, unable to help a blush. Nobody had come for them yet. No need to spoil this gift of privacy for the sake of being cold and uncomfortable what was likely a frigid morning. One more kiss upon that freckled neck. Those broad, muscular shoulders needed attention too.

Threnn made a noise of contentment and arched her back into Wyn’s kisses.

Wyn was lost in the way she felt, the tickle of the fine hairs of her skin on her nose, the sound of her voice, the way she smelled. Wyn kissed lower and slid her hand across the soft curves of Threnn's hips to the inside of her thigh.

“Wyn...” Threnn groaned and spread her legs. The soft curls at her center were damp and blushing and she lifted herself to Wyn’s finger.

A knock at the door put a stop to the morning’s pleasantries and the the voice of Josephine Montilyet could be heard from the other side. “Herald, are you in there?”

“Fuck!” Wyn breathed.

“Oh blood--” Threnn stopped herself and clapped the pillow over her mouth before she could finish her exclamation.

Realizing what this was going to look like, Wyn’s heart began to race and she sat up. “Coming, Josie! Give me a moment!” She called out to the Ambassador. Her eyes darted around the room. Of course there would just be the one room in this cabin and nowhere else to hide.

Threnn could hide under the bed right? Wyn thought and glanced at Threnn’s feet dangling off the end of the mattress.

“Right. Don’t think they thought of hiding a massive fucking woman under the bed,” she said mostly to herself.

“’Fraid not love, but I can manage. You best go tend to them,” Threnn said and urged Wyn out of bed. 

Wyn pulled on the clothes she could find which was a pair of underpants and Threnn’s off-white undershirt from the night before, which was long enough to hide the important parts.

Threnn looked adorable with her hair still in the throes of passion and gripping the blankets around her beautiful, massive torso, with those tree-trunk like arms, and those emerald eyes looking kind, and sweet, and very much like she’d done something like this before.

Wyn couldn’t help but accept the reassuring look that Threnn offered and kissed her lips tenderly. “What do they care right? Cassandra isn’t a gossip and neither is Josephine.”

“You better go,” Threnn said softly.

Wyn still kept her hair loose and it hung down around the two of them like a veil of sunlight. More like, Threnn looked like a veil of sunlight and smelled deliciously of sex. Wyn nodded absently, barely hearing what she had to say and kissed her deeply. This wasn’t really happening right? Just a few more minutes.

A louder knock startled Wyn enough that she flew away from Threnn. That wasn’t Josephine. If Cassandra was here.

Wyn blew out a puff of air, smoothed her hair back and pulled open the door to a blast of frigid air. “Bloody...that’s one way to wake up,” Wyn said mostly to herself but also to both Lady Josephine and Lady Cassandra who stood just outside the door, Josie looking far more patient than Cassandra, but there was a look of seriousness on both of them that was enough for Wyn to swallow any further attempt at humor.

Lady Josephine’s mouth opened slightly and her cheeks reddened in embarrassment. “My apologies, Herald but--”

“--There is an urgent matter. One that requires your attention and we were also wondering if you might have seen Quartermaster Threnn since she didn’t report for duty on time this morning,” Cassandra interjected. Her eyes turned from Wyn and looked past her into the cabin. “And it seems we guessed correctly.”

Wyn followed Cassandra’s gaze to Threnn sitting up in the bed with the blankets pulled over her body. She waved with an embarrassed smile that was enough for Wyn to brave the cold and step through the door and pull it partially closed behind her.

“What’s going on?” Wyn asked, pulling herself tight around herself and trying not to shiver too much.

Cassandra’s expression turned into one of lost patience and she opened her mouth to tell a story, but was stopped by a motherly hand from Josephine.

“We don’t need to have you out in the cold. Please, both of you get dressed and meet us in the Chantry,” Josephine said.

\- - - - - -

Wearing yesterday’s clothes wasn’t anything new for Threnn, nor was trying to pull apart of piece of dwarven hardtack with her teeth. It was the best she could come up with in such short notice, and she was grateful that a fresh supply had been delivered to her tent recently. Not quite the meal she’d planned on to celebrate what had, until this point, been the best morning of her life.

Wyn had apologized unnecessarily while getting dressed and cracked a few jokes, kissed her, and looked at her with a tenderness that that left Threnn with a warmth to stave off a winter morning that was bitter even for Ferelden’s standards.

The storm that brought in the snow the night before had gone, leaving the air clear and cool, the sun doing its best to compete against the swirl in the sky. Breeze brushed off the icy crust on the fallen snow and a quicker step in the patrolling soldiers kept their eyes focused on the next spot next to a warm fire as opposed to the two of them walking along together, though some did notice and the looks on their faces were cause for concern.

Threnn wanted to imagine that some of the whispers were about the doom and gloom outside Haven, but knowing how people were, that wasn’t what the soldiers of the Inquisition army was focusing on.

Putting that out of her mind, she followed Wynaelora into the Chantry, grateful for the warmth of the fires. Instinctively, Threnn moved her fur clow and curtsied politely to both Lady Josephine and Lady Cassandra who were waiting for them just inside.

“Nice uniform.” Cassandra’s smart remark cut across the stone in its usual exotic melody.

Realizing Threnn was still dressed in her Ferelden Army’s leathers, her cheeks reddened in embarrrassment. “My apologies, Seeker. I--”

Cassandra held up a hand and took on a motherly amusement. “At least it is one, Quartermaster. Josie and I were a little afraid you’d arrive wearing bed sheets.”

“My gown was a bit small,” Wyn retorted. The Herald did not wear her gown from the night before but her normal riding leathers complete with long leather trench coat made of dark bear’s hide. Around her waist tied a dark sash made of samite, and across her back was her glittering mage staff.

Threnn’s embarrassment only worsened and she thought of asking them to wait while she put on a more appropriate uniform. However, it was clear by the urgency in Cassandra’s posture and the growing concern in Wyn’s that there wasn’t time.

Cassandra motioned the two of them to follow into the main chamber. “While you two were...sleeping, there was an incident along the Imperial Highway. That merchant you introduced me to in Val Royeaux, we think she may have been either captured or killed.”

Threnn’s blood went cold.

“What?!” Wyn looked pale and she glanced at Threnn.

“I sent Hess with the last group...” Threnn’s voice trailed off as her mind began to race.

Cassandra opened the door to the main chamber. Her face looked more sympathetic than Threnn remembered ever seen her. “Please.”

The room they entered was grand. Likely intended for a Chantry Mother, but had been repurposed to be the meeting room for the Inquisition’s highest officers. A fire was lit at the hearth and candles lined the stone walls next to bookshelves filled with volumes of what appeared to be a mixture of political and Chantry writings from various corners of Thedas.

On the wall were portraits of various notable Thedosians. The ones Threnn recognized were of Divine Justinia, Her Majesty, and a depiction of Andraste teaching the Chant to the masses. At the center of the room was a grand war table upon which laid a map of Thedas and pieces depicting military assets both friend and foe and points of interest.

In addition to herself, Wynaelora, and Lady Cassandra were also Commander Cullen and Sister Leliana and a young elven woman whom Threnn didn’t recognize.

The elven woman had dark hair that was in a frizz as though she’d recently washed and there were fresh cuts about her face which, unlike Wyn, bore no mark of the Dalish.

Threnn curtsied to the other officers as propriety allowed and addressed everyone in the room.

“Thank you for joining us, Quartermaster,” Cullen said with a bow. “Allow me to introduce Tressa de Ledec. She was part of Lady Suie’s detail assigned to one of our caravans and came in last night.”

Tressa bowed slightly and looked straight at Wyn. “More like I came in alone last night.”

“What happened?” Wyn asked.

“Bandits,” the elf said in her curled Orlesian accent. “They are called Highway Men and are to be expected with the Empire in such disarray. Lately, they had been growing more bold in their attacks like hunters do. Lady Suie wanted to see for herself and also come talk to you in person, Your Worship,” she turned to Wyn. “We did our best to fight them, but it was as though they knew that we were coming.”

“How do you figure?” Wyn asked, her brow knitting.

“They didn’t take the wagons this time. Shocked me, since they poached one intended for Madame de Fer last week, and what we were hauling this week was worth twice of hers.”

“How long have you been aware of these raiders?” Cassandra asked of Threnn.

Threnn’s cheeks warmed and her heart palpitated nervously. Raiders were expected with caravans which was why she sent her men along with them, but all of this was news to her. “I haven’t, Seeker. Not of these particular ones.” She said meekly, expecting either her or Cullen to shout at her. She deserved it. Especially in light of her recent irresponsible conduct.

Cassandra seemed puzzled and glanced at Josephine.

“Did you see what happened to Lady Suie and the others?” Wyn asked.

“They killed most of them except for her and one of the gentlemen soldiers. Dark haired man, but I don’t recall his name. Their leader was supposed to have killed them but decided to spare them instead.”

“Do you remember where you were?”

The elf nodded. “The Imperial Highway. Between Ennard and Chateau Monsette.”

“That’s odd. I spoke with Lady Monsette not long ago, and she mentioned no trouble anywhere near her.”

“Respectfully, Ambassador, she could have lied to you,” Threnn ventured.

Josephine gestured with her head that she conceded the point.

“Could they want a ransom?” Cassandra asked.

Threnn shook her head. “If it’s money they wanted, why leave the wagons?”

“Maybe they wanted to trick us into thinking that,” Wyn replied.

“Awfully elaborate for thieves,” Threnn countered.

“So is kidnapping,” Wyn retorted. “How do thieves suddenly go from holding up caravans to kidnapping people for no ransom?”

“To make a statement,” Leliana stated.

“Maybe their objectives have changed. Perhaps we are dealing with a new faction in Orlais,” Josephine suggested.

“But if they have the cunning to launch such a calculated attack if it was as she claims, why choose an elven merchant and a soldier? There are much juicier targets that aren’t so heavily guarded,” Cassandra said.

“Because they want to draw you out,” Threnn said absently. Her eyes had been fixed on a piece on the war table near Redcliffe Castle. It bore the Inquisition insignia which she took to mean Inquisition military assets. There was another one nearby bearing the flag of Ferelden. Her Majesty?

Averting her eyes from the piece and the questions in her mind, Threnn looked to everyone in the room, lastly, fixing on Wynaelora. They all seemed to be satisfied with the explanation and nodded their heads.

“This is very interesting timing...” Wyn said, her voice trailing off. Her eyes had gone to the pieces on the table that Threnn had been looking at and then to the Tressa and then Threnn. She let out an exasperated sigh. “Thank you for your testimony, Tressa. Quartermaster, will you please see to it that she is assigned quarters and given a fresh change of clothes?”

Threnn looked confused a moment and met Wyn’s gaze. Without saying it, Wyn told her that there was something more to be discussed that wasn’t meant or her ears. For the first time, such orders didn’t sit well with her, but it wasn’t her place to argue. “Right away, Your Worship,” Threnn said with a bow. She excused herself and gestured for Tressa to follow her out of the Chantry.


End file.
